Sunday, August 30, 2015

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

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



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


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

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.
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,
on the same wing.  8-21-15

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