morning prayer


from lightly swirling mists of mind she wakes
and sips a breath from cream and coffee walls
beside her dreams still breathe sonorous airs
concealed beneath the lashes of her love

silently her fingers slide beneath
the rise and fall of blankets puffed with down
feeling for the signs of her faith
that carried all her whispered hopes to rest

she rolls to find beneath her shoulder blade
sixty wooden markers linked by grace
and frees them tenderly into her grasp
impressions left behind of reverence

she touches sanctity between her brows
and presses to her lips a deep respect
then one by one her fingers trace the path
of patience lowly chanted through the light

within the depths of soundless sightlessness
he senses gentle motions brush his back
a thought a breath a passing ray of light
return him slowly from the fields of night

a pastel shaded window fills his eyes
followed by a clock and dresser drawers
a soft and rhythmic murmur fills his ears
underscored by contemplative rests

the air is still as old cathedral pews
he closes both his eyes and meditates
on every word and every shift of wood
that count her prayers soft against his skin

Unrealized


Life came through her garden, humming
ageless songs within her throat.
She snipped here and there seeking
in her arbitrary way some perfection.
Twigs and withered blossoms fell
to rest and decay in soft tended loam.
Here and there a solitary bud caught
her eye and she raised shears to remove
some hint--crease or brown--of imperfection.

He was nipped in the bud,
the briefest snow white broke
though green, ready for light.
But was it frost or cruel shears--
he knew not. Just instant loss...
If he ran blood through those
unspread petals it might have felt
like a broken heart, crushed
in the clutches of unrealized
potential. The fullness of sun
hardly seen, barely felt, never known.

    Contrast


    I

    She dreams amid the depthless id,
        a realm of raw potential
    drifting at the edge of thought.
        Unmanifest essentials
percolate through layered folds of mind
forever just outside the touch of time.
    She breathes creation deep in caverns, tucked
        far from any insight, guess, or reason.
    She seethes formation leagues beneath the waves,
        far from hints of light or apprehension.
    She is the well from whence the waters spring,
        from whence the building blocks of life are sprung.
    She is the void from whence the stars are born,
        issued forth beyond the scope of scorn.
            She sleeps eternal with the night,
        giving birth to endless silhouettes
    that rise into awareness, taking shape
as all the many forms that move amid the day.


    II

    He springs to life a burst of light,
        exploding pure perception
    figures brought to sudden view.
        Diversified conceptions
manifest amid a constant stream
that sears the retina with vivid scenes.
    He brings discernment high to foggy heights,
        making all attempts to clear the distance.
    He sings invention miles from the surf,
        building means to navigate enigmas.
    He is the peak from which the fires spring,
        from which the smoke and thunderclap are sprung.
    He is a vision, stirred from out the deep,
        driven to avoid the sloughs of sleep.
            He strives forever with the day,
        raising every kind of edifice,
    each structure hewn from earth and wood
to shelter nascent notions from the jaws of night.


    III

    They weave cotillions day by night,
        dancing waves of symmetry
            that co-arise from mystery
                and foam against the light.
    Their voices hum with rhythmic steps,
        taps and scuffs of unity
            reechoed through eternity
                among the silent stars.
        Arm in arm, from world to world,
    they dip and rise, they tuck and twirl,
toe to toe and heel to heel
                        through galleries of loss.
        They sway against impermanence,
    reinventing innocence,
and recreating elegance
                        from water, dust, and ash.

Maya


From hard hidden folds where granites press
stony drops through limestone crevices
to streams that coalesce in emptiness
and pool in caverns dripping far from sight
to canyon narrows carved from monuments
heft high above a universe of waves
to stillborn depths where ancient forms of life
move like starving ghosts amid the void
she creeps through time an ever present force
birthing shapes amorphous to the mind
which rise and bubble out into the light
manifest for moments on the wind

summer solstice at Bear Tower (2009)


    wind falls on the cottonwoods
          like a soft cool rain
sprinkled lightly upon the spirit
              beneath clear skies

    one by one the hosts
          of distant worlds
peek out through the void
              clearing away the dusk

    to the west a column vaults
          black against the night
holding the inmost eye
              fixed on her sudden stance

    in the dark a deer-drum
          follows the sound of prayers
resounding through the shadows
              to the stars

reality

he longs to recall
innocence a time before

when he slid through nimbus
hopes on smooth white wings

before the sky fell crashing
twisted frames of light

before radiating refresh
rates dulled his retinas

it weighs on his chest
a crushing shadow of loss

an emptiness an urge to
realize stolen potential

a quiet rage stoked in the
depths of ransacked moments

each day he sees his life
taken slowly sipped away

and now his limbs begin to
tremble palsied graying skin

there will be no life to flash
before his lids in the end

for he died long ago when
all he lived for fell struck

from a sky full of dreams