A Winged Bird

I am who I have always been
a shiver of soft reeds beside the river
or the cascade of  waterfall.
Gypsy crows rise  to a soft dawn sky
gathering their kind they circle
back for me.

 

I can scarcely  bear the

splendor of the world,

it’s wonder humbles

the wisp  of me.

Minutiae of eyes and ears

and speechless tongue

Stunned by the promise

of a  red sunrise.

Elegant trees  lift up

their mighty arms,

grand  gods in prayer,

host to creatures

large and small,

a cornucopia of life

fills their noble crowns.

 

I want to sail across the sea,
this tiny fleck that is me,
a winged bird   bearer of
no possession,
fragment of the universe.

 

 

fine art America

 

Translation by  Bernd Hutschenreuther

Ein geflügelter Vogel sein

Ich vermag kaum, den Glanz
der Welt zu enthüllen,
ihre Wunder schmälern
noch meine Winzigkeit.
Details von Augen und Ohren
und Zunge, stumm,
erstaunt vom Versprechen
eines Sonnenaufgangs.
Vornehme Bäume erheben
ihre erhabenen Arme,
mächtige Götter im Gebet,
Gastgeber unzähliger Geschöpfe,
abgezupft in rot und grün,
Füllhörner mit Nüssen und Beeren
zieren ihre edlen Kronen.
Ich möchte das Meer durchsegeln,
winziger Fleck, der ich bin,
ein geflügelter Vogel, Träger
keines Besitzes, ein erfreuliches
Fragment des Alls,
einem jeden sichtbar.

Deutsch: Bernd Hutschenreuther

 

Blasphemy

Browsing  through souvenirs

I am reminded of you.

The door to the past swings open

releasing a sleek eel of memories

where I am nothing  or at best

some trembling leaf lost on a summer breeze.

Do you think of me?

See me in constellations pressed against the sky,

hear me in the surge of tide, slick sealions riding white horses?

I would seek comfort in the moon but I am so  trivial

and he is taken by  the stars.

In dreams my tongue is a crimson  snake

flicking the skin of your thigh,

curling around the catch in my throat.

It is  god and has named me regret.

I close our door  with pried fingers,

I’ve given up on prayer hands.

 

 

 Dove Mouth

Art by Rita Hardy

anemone

In the moonlight I am a shimmer

of anemone flowers washed ashore

on  cascades of foamy waves across

the flawless imprint of my love.

Gossamer  beams spill down our throats

where there is no need for words below

a sky  filled with muted stars  driven to be near us.

 

Tonight we are the sigh of winds

over high cliffs echoing from  walls

of  murky caves and back again.

Tethered to nothing we are

free of burden,  golden sand enticing the

current through ancient reefs,

released forever back to the sea.

 

Coral Reef  from Google

 

Indulging Conjecture

Pink sand pulls away
from the glistening shore,
melting fondant in the
sticky heat.
Minute  ecosystems inhabit
tiny  grottoes in  tide pools
of wet sand.
Some days I stroll the coast alone,
escaping in realms of lovers
where there is no logic but
an aching crush I hold to my breast,
a passage between a heart and the
mountains where I left you.
Allow me to come undone beneath
the  weight of tender hands on eggshell,
the gentle quake of my sigh upon your
unshaven cheek.
Let me   drown in the deep river of
your eyes where there
is no threat of war, hard silence,
or the burden of forgiveness.

 

 

 

Tide Pool

In the hour before dawn when the stars still hold on to the velvet sky,  stealthy specters rise, pull on  layers of clothing and slip silently into the low lying fog.   Father let the car roll  down the driveway  signalling me with a fingertip to his lips to  make not  a sound for fear we would wake the sleeping who might want to intrude on our secret adventure just for two.   The engine purring like a cat hummed   down the deserted highway to a slab of pavement leading to the bay.  From there the  scent of  Gumbo Limbo and salty mangrove drifted through our  open windows.   Parking between two  boulders we walked to the craggy shore. The horizon glowed in lush amber,  waves so  far away,   tidal sand came alive with trifles of tiny seas where a  bug eyed Hermit Crab hurriedly dug his hiding hole.  Provocative anemones waved their fuchsia fingers at lilac colored algae where a Starfish tiny as a tear waited patiently for a finger to regrow.   The squawk of   Sea gulls invoked by the rising sun  signaled us to move along.  In the full light of day we sat silently on the sea wall, the sound of crashing waves pounding in our ears.
sea anemones
Photo by Brocken Inaglory

pearls of summer

The waves are salty sea lions

and the sky is a shadow of gulls.

The summer sun spills down

my throat and there is little

need for words.

The  sky is  jacaranda and

the shore is willing to bear

the imprint of my bare feet,

slippery and wet.

The pearls  I have gathered

I’ve scattered like the past,

cling to  untied lifelines

something for my hands.

 

 

Steve Hanks Art