This

O my father

guardian of this watery green

and low bluegray

on weary feet.

O my father

this, this blink

this gasp

this wonder.

This is why we come

and sing our dreams

into the graycloud skies.

gasping sobs tear her body into pieces that

float above her, waiting to be sewn back together

One thread drawing them tight and snug again,

a sweater she can thrust her arms into gladly,

wrapping warmth around her icy bare branches.

Inside her, alien flesh pricks with tiny knives,

razors opening sealed wounds that cry scaly tears

and glue their eyes tight shut, denying their misery.

Above her his spiky breath covers her hair, her ear,

dripping down her neck with a snail’s undulation.

She rises, tasting ashes in her mouth, and floats,

now lost in a sea of misty grey,

now lifted above the clouds into brightness.

Her eyes close against the sudden blindness of clarity

and she sees her tiny body far below, broken.

Stars burst, gasp and die.

Colors collide, crayons melting.

The ancestors mourn.

Gray-blue sky, still wind
Buddhist prayer flags hang from branch
Monday morning cars

~~~~~

Sing Us Peace, They Said

Lapping waves at feet
wheeling seabirds cry above
Sun warms driftwood seat

through doors and walls and windows

to unseen worlds of dizzying possibility.

I lie awake, willing a single silver cord

to emerge from my body like an astral umbilicus.

At the mirror I chant I AM

and wait for the reflected worlds behind me to unfold

like petals after a spring rain,

worlds that will swallow me into nothingness.

One day I will scream for an hour so shards of my

shattered heart will break my brain into halves

and I will disappear between them.

Float away, Self, I whisper in my dreams

that follow me like twisted shadows.

Float away and unwind the becoming,

banners at rest and respectfully waiting,

all time suspended.