Lotka Reflecting All (from the journal)

Chesapeake City Park

In the lost place,

many moments,

many greetings

from unknown plants, dragonfly,

and skipper who waits

patiently for the camera to open.

All eyes open,

inner eyes, too,

moving moments

shared.

Beauty shared.

New beauty

shared in the lost place.  8-17-15

Unseen waterbird

flies overhead

speaking in her

white water voice.  8-17-15

Wasp taking wood from

the old deck chair—

somewhere a nursery is expanding.  8-17-15

 

Emily

Did you know it then

when the words

touched the paper

that it was your voice,

your strong voice talking?

Rounded open letters letting

thought in, out,

barely touching paper.  8-17-15

Sumi-e

Little girl making peace at her study table.

Wide blue sky reflected in wide blue sea,

a yellow place for feet,

little girl feet.   8-17-15

Cloud-bird

hides in the sky.

From the pine

gray bird looks on.  8-17-15

Sasha in the wild world

with sharks

and Mallory.  8-17-15

Stacatto clouds below the film of cirrus.

Water.

But how?    8-18-15

The perfect lake

shadowed by the perfect woods.

Rabbit lives there.  8-19-15

Sometimes looseness comes,

a way of knowing, dancing in the unknown

emerging between paper and brush,

learning to touch,

to see between light and dark,

all coming to the palest

gray opalescence when dry,

Himalayan lotka reflecting all.   8-19-15

Morning opalescence—

fog, cloud, sea air moisten the upright pines.

Shades of white moving north.  8-20-15

The promise of blue

rising over the bare tree this morning

without gray bird.  8-20-15

The path is full—

beach rose buds, orange hips, green prickly pears,

the turning pines unto themselves.  8-20-15

The woods—old enough

to be dying.

Gray bird’s empty perch.  8-21-15 

Reflections on the soft lake greener

than the calm water

after the night of light and storm.   8-21-15

Where did this air come from that lights

my hair, my breath?

The world above,

the fast moving world of touch and go.  8-21-15

Night Storm

The sky goes all the way up,

peopled with cloud dreams.

And in the dark,

enough depth for light.  8-21-15

Orb weaver’s offspring

on my teacup saucer stepping

through spilled black Indian tea,

looking for a place to hide.  8-21-15

They were going somewhere

all in a rush,

altogether

on the same wing.  8-21-15