you are a butterfly who pinned yourself
to black paper,
put yourself in chains-and there you remain.
happiness dances out in the distance for you,
but not so far that you can't see it. ephemeral.
you don't believe you can lay claim
to your own tiny slice of it.
barrier
barrier
barrier
you stack one more brick in the next one.
you claim to want as you reach
for the mortar.
i will love you, as you are, forever,
but i will not live pinned
or with a For Sale sign in my front yard
when you were really
never
in the market.
the walls are so high now i can only see
the tips of your fingers as you wave goodbye.

On high

i sit,
waiting to settle. the chorus
lift their voices and begin,
the crickets crying, hummingbirds
battle with light sabers,
deer practice at the barre,
their agile selves, ears high,
watching me.
i close my eyes
and could be at the ocean
in Cornwall,
the trees moving in waves
like the surf rolling in.
foreign sounds i can't identify-
bug or bird,
and my own heartbeat tries to find
its place among the many.

i am filling me with more. i have found me
in Spirit again, or Spirit has found itself in me.
i don't question but breathe "ahhhh" to be
back in this comforted familiar place.

i will not say i am not frightened or
still adrift.
but where i longed for comfort
in places i should not have,
i've begun to find profound
simple peace in small moments.
i had lost that. i once was lost.
and now i'm found. those words
are as good as any.

this place makes me want to
walk softly, move slowly, be silent.
the grass is crunchy and dry,
my sweatshirt pulled on today
for the first time this season.
the old dog is missing and has left
a small, black hole of hurt in me.
i am aware of the ancestors who
might have walked before, who disturbed
deer under an apple tree like i did,
who marveled at the first chill in the air
as if they didn't feel it every year.

i know these moments are fleeting and
that great joy or great sorrow are around the corner.
it is astonishing that i have so little control
over my own story.
and so much.

i gather myself together. step quietly inside
her empty house, write and step out
to share popcorn with the brown dogs.
a communion all its own.
no doubt, like this place, equally holy.
amen.

Un-Done

my seams are pulling.
i am coming un-done but
don't be afraid for me.
the crevice is cracking wider
and the sunlight is clearing me out
of all the old stale crap
that clogged my heart, my love, my life.
i can see me and you again,
the big 'you' of it all,
and the family all around me.
i am sentimental and ridiculous
and i'm just fine with that.
i'm fine with it all.
the dervish is whirling in me again.
my small imagination can't engage in conception.
it is all too big.
so i will rock and weep with this overwhelm.
of love.
overwhelmed with love.
keep me open.
keep me open.
keep me open. wide.

A Valentine's Day Gift for the Future

I know the day is coming
when I will drink mightily and quench
this thirst, the draught done,
the rainy season blessedly come. I've
been good
done the work
grown strong
and remained open.
My rewards are coming,
lit brightly and ready to celebrate with me,
dancing around the fire.
Perhaps the face will be familiar
or strange
but it will love full-tilt and fearless.
And we will wallow together like fat puppies in our good fortune...

Patti Smith Changed Me Late in Life

I don't know you.
You, half man, half woman,
with suits and ties, boots and skirts, cardigans.
One minute soft, the next angry and defiant.
Yours seems like a life well-lived.
I envy you, your unself-conscious
lack of beauty,
your boots,
your black and white and gray-ness.
You deliver words in a voice
like heaven,
scream with nails on black board insanity.
Two people at once.
You seem to have loved deeply and
lost so much.
You lost so much but your spirit still shines.
You seem fearless. Are you?
Dreams of life. Mine are freezing here.
You have suffered more.
You run free like horses, horses, horses.
Is that too cliche?
Run wild with Burroughs, Ginsberg, Robert.
Sip tea in your home.
Dichotomy.You.
I want to touch your natty hair
and see if some of this grace will reach me.
I. am. rarely. moved. like. this. anymore.
Patti.

And I remember Stinson Beach

I was there just a few nights ago,
there with old love and new,
in the flights of my other life
the nightly visions
so much better than the days.
I remember the man
climbing the rocks,
the boy, ours, in the tide pools.
It was a time of naked men
and sisters, still loving
and the cold surfers in black skins.
I was newer then,
the skin and heart not yet
buffed raw.
He was alive then,
he was better then.
There were starfish.
The water was cold, our boy ran free.
I wondered at calla lily and
birds of paradise
growing wild, like weeds.
The Zen fields,
the small cottage,
the place felt like ours.
I was no more lost then
than I am now.
No more lost.
So much changed.
I was there again. Were you?

October 2009

A dark, cloudy soul,
yours. Who I long for.
the clouds come in...and they linger.
No amount of reassurance can clear them.
Your demons dance in, dance out.
Dance on everything around you,
obscuring the view of me, standing.
And as quickly,
the skies part
and your sun shines
and I'm reminded that it moves me.
When those clouds break,
even for just a moment,
I see.
I see the reason for it all.
Just as quickly, storm clouds gather again
and you vanish. I am vanished.
We are overcome. Sunshine forgotten.
I see now.
I am your dora, isak, katherine
to your denys.
I sit at the sidelines and I wait.
I will never be invited in.
But there are gifts and pleasures,
and moments. There are no weeks,
or months, or years. There is no us, no we.

I wait for the sunshine, for the recognition
in your eyes,
for the return of you.
I do not stop living.
I cannot stop loving.
This is the choice. This is the life I have chosen.