A Day For My Own
The darning of socks in
summertime. The filing of nails
on a nothing-to-do night -
with all desires nourished.
I see a can of peaches open, the laundry washed
and windows everywhere, letting in
the outdoors.
I feel my pulse calm,
feel almond shells around my feet
and the fires of anxiety appeased.
Like holding the hand of a friend in need
or running through a valley with a dog
who can't be seen, my eyes are strong
with imagination. They blend
with the October leaves and lap-up
visions of children playing
where willow trees so easily grow.
The Gift
In love like the buffalo is with
its herd, like the fingers with the
hand, like the fish with its translucent
tail.
One dish I swallowed of hope
and resurrection. One morning
I held his rock that crushed all other
rocks before. I crawled to the edge
he asked, and understood eternity.
One morning he rippled inside me
like a living storm, and I knew love like food.
My hunger was beaten by his picnic.
The pond that was his cup,
drenched my being in the tender flesh of God.
For one morning I found my good soil,
and I will live for always now,
cleaving close, like to a first kiss,
that graced filled day.
Things I Must Learn
To speak like I should
in the wayfaring night, to
hold your hand when the shelf cracks
and the books are all read, when the fridge
carries only last week's fruit.
To lean my head on your heart and
let you speak your need, instead of curling
under the blankets like an angry, disturbed thing.
To kiss your lips when nothing is going on, when
the dried flowers crumble to the floor and
the guitar strings have snapped, when summer
is only a month away and the city prepares in the same
dull way.
To touch your arm when the shower curtain rips
and a spider’s eggs lay behind the bathroom mirror.
To be kinder than I've been,
to wrap a hand around the back of your cold,
delicate neck.
To take pictures of you
in the afternoon, loving you better
when darkness inevitably descends.
New Commitment
In the wilderness of my dreams,
never shining a colour I could own
as a bluejay, its feathers.
How many worlds must I enter
to peel away to the light?
How to gather sand and build a rock?
And at night,
even love's generosity
is not so glorious,
even happiness cancels out
a great intensity.
I think strength means
knowing how to suffer
properly.
Strip me of this darkness and
let me lean against a beating chest!
I am not to be scattered like a weakling seed
or tossed from shoulder to shoulder
like a child without a home.
In the solid middle I will dive,
driving away my rage and the stuff
of distraction that devours
the better workings of my heart.
