11032013

in the molten magenta that is this morning

when the birds are yet asleep

i feel the poetry that is me

silent and unconscious… unaware of

an offering of presence and existence

an invitation to make history of mystery

come to me speak to me

i am here i am spirit

i am ears… flame

i am yours

i dare not be without this worship that is

a meditation on excavated tenderness

a reminder to enter humbly the shrine

to lay flowers before the awaiting altar

to sing the opera that kneels inside my throat

to become the risen phoenix with the omniscient eye

10312013

despite the voices saying, don’t!

i do.

10202013

morning…

jasmine tea brews in the teapot

the curtains ripple at the window

maria callas cries from the speakers

erratic sunlight caresses the doorframe

and i…

a rawness

an open vessel

curved and poised for

all of these impermanences

it's sunday
that, too, is impermanent

10052013

she said,

i’m falling.

i said,

we fall.

and we rise.

and we have a clearer view.