Your eyes are the crescent
of a silver bay that circles my mind
in the deep mystery of sleep
your voice an invocation of bells
that once rung cannot be undone
in dreams I am your dancer
beckoned at your will
I am a charm on a well cut cuff
a link on a diamond encrusted chain.
art by digitalina
There is a bird the color of a rainbow.
When he grieves his song pervades the caves of forgotten dreams.
His laughter is a river that sings like children,
it flows through stone to soothe the hearts of angels.
His tongue drips with the honey of desert flowers.
Wading wide shores of light, when we are thirsty
we sip dew from feathers painted in his colors.
When adventure calls we lift our wings and fly away.
The waves sweep in
dropping treasures at the shore
retrieving it with outgoing swells.
Shimmering Seagulls, angled ragged
shapes, swooped up by the winds cadence.
Shells and speckled seaweed coexist
with abalone in every shade of color the
eye can hold.
Macaw and ruby parrots fill the trees
and bird of paradise too beautiful to bear.
Within a moments distraction they vanish
beyond the pebbled shore and falcon sky.
It is too soon
to prune but wilted petals
wave provocatively from
bowing gardens and here
among bent stems the sun is pleasing to my back and shoulders.
Pulpy worms are sweet to scavenging tongues of hungry birds
plucked without warning from spidery veins of leaves.
Elongated roots relentlessly war with nicked and bleeding fingers
tugging at reluctant stems. I know it it is too early but chaotic gardens
long for control once again.
Waiting for you became a ritual,
listening for the sound of your footsteps
in the pounding rain.
The taste of salt still remains
upon my lips where you left it
and in dreams you are evoked
by the wings of seabirds where I have
pressed our memory.
At daybreak the tide retreats without
leaving you at my shore and it is
there I accept loss.
At the hollow of my throat I have etched
your name somehow declaring us sacred.
I’ve unfolded us like origami
Ripped apart our borders
Dissected the shadowed corners
of secrets, forced them into
the light to mourn like the hollow
bones of birds,
I have renamed us where every
memory is not an ache beneath my ribs
and every thought is not an assault on the dead.
My heart is the flush of peony
the color of healing scars.