Marooned off Lime (from the journal)

It’s a long way I

went to hear your voice, back.

I, wrapped by blue,

self, your self, fire,

your rolling fire voice, embers

moving across me,

a whole place,

without shivers,

mine or yours.  2-10-15

On many levels

it remains—hope,

in all the right colors.  2-11-15

The door opens word by word.

Wren waits on the growing branch.

I wait beside her.  2-12-15

I don’t pursue the hollow ring;

this isn’t my time.

Do you waken to the same horizontal sky,

gray and cream?

My time waits below my breast bone,

tucked under my chin,

the one that lifts to you.  2-14-15

My eye finds it—

the blue through crab apple’s

bare branches.  Sea blue

anchored like my heart.  2-14-15 

Here we are on a slow slide.

There’s too much light and raw sound

for toes to meet,

naked toes,

toe to toe,

on a slow slide

in.  2-18-15

Ragged,

lactuca seeds under snow,

over snow, silent snow.  2-21-15

Coming down straight

with the softest weight,

coalesced dreams gather up white

over the rising night.  2-21-15 

Steady, steady, steady they go

blown through and through with

sideways clouds of broken dust.  2-21-15

Does it hold, the lock,

the golden brown light of spring,

emerging-swelling, breathing with light,

grasping eyes, heart until the moment is fulfilled?

And again and again, you, me,

the space that is ours.  3-1-15

The light is right,

the morning sideways light.

If not for the snow it would fall across

my arms, my eyes, my pen,

that sideways morning light.  3-6-15

It beckons not, the snow.

I stay inside, warm tea,

comforted by lily’s brown,

down-turned leaves that grace the

still-green stems, two unopened buds

pointing to each other.

Gestures of thought unopened,

but conceived and received.  3-6-15

Kalanchoe

Where is the light now,

the curls of light

coming back red off wood,

green off sedum?

Has any made its way here,

and does it cast its own taupe shadow?

Where is the light now?

Is it marooned off lime?  3-6-15

A word, a sigh,

a touch of paper,

the softest paper

ringed with light.  3-7-15

Do you think of me when you move,

making paths through it all?

In my quieter path you are here,

the last snow falling, silent.  3-7-15

  

Water

Maple’s week-long flowers,

abrupt in the soft air.

Now rain, the soft rain

brings down the full color.

Water, colored by air.  4-3-15

Standing in the water,

my feet wet,

your promise,

a pinch of warmth.  4-3-15