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The fog lifts
Just enough To spot 2 coyotes On the hillside They follow A Path Well worn Of blood and vein As if their footsteps Alone Lifted the fog Clearing the rain to finally See to finally Be In a world that speaks Back to me The cottontail ruminates The Douglas squirrel Launches from tree to tree The red-tailed hawk beckons to the lee And the towhee and chickadee spree Coyotes trod on mud and stone In the lift I am them and They are me
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My dress is frayed at the ends
That’s what saltwater does to cotton Wears it down Like stone Washes away the color Smooths out the wrinkles Until what’s left Wants to start at the end And feel its way back to the beginning Over every rough over every silk Where the threads are strong and sure of themselves Until what’s left My scarf is frayed at the ends That’s what wind and salt does to cotton Wears it down Like stone Fades color Pushes wrinkles Smooth Until what’s left Is loosely wrapped around my neck Failing to hold me together So I don’t sail away Until what’s left I.
Her seeds float down from the canopy. Gives into grace and holds knowledge not quite hidden. Leap to the forest floor where the apathetic passersby dare to notice. Like debutantes their DNA is capable and untethered. Fly from mother to begin again. To sense the church of been. In between pavement and moss, I bend over to touch the fibers. Absence matters on the skin. If you can’t feel something, does that mean it’s not there? Significant in its insignificance indeed. Attention proceeds. As the hypnosis descends, I want to tip my head back and open my mouth to catch them. Like a child would at the fair. Individual bites of cotton candy or even snow. The way they float low. The way they let go. let go. and know. Cottonwood seeds line the path where I walked this evening. Huddled beside the asphalt as if they knew that congregating in numbers would get them noticed. It worked. II. Cottonwood seeds line the path where I once walked and led me down Candyland Lane. Led me to summer days. Backyard barbeques. Laughing for the ones I love. Warmer temperatures warm the heart. warm the heat. sleeveless tops and flips that flop. Strands fly far on the wind and propagate in moist and mud….dry river bottoms….and lake shallows. These water searchers and thirst perchers grow long hair like Goldilocks – but conditions need not be just right. As saplings guzzle, months and years pace by. Their stature stretch shade and bring respite in the heat waves and picnic saves. When met with fire imagination ignites and destroys summer’s rage. Tea bark heals. a stew that speaks. and taps into the shallow roots to rouse the past and watch the future sleep. Possibility simmers and conjures a canoe to steer the stars. Pen its paper to always know the mate of mars. Cellulose led me to imagine my future as the last sow from the last pitch finds my crown contained. Warmth of scalp and skull. Roots grab hold and nerves interfold. Knowledge syncs through veins of conscious. into the vane of cosmos…..jagged leaves clatter a ballad…..sing a vision….pluck a song of dreams. …..where cottonwoods imagine and I dive into the stream. a campsite
lakeside view hills that sail a lake sunlight and shadow cat’s paws a fishing pole flies and casts damselfly nymphs a kite wind and sky string fights a boat pontoons and oars muscle glides a birdhouse acrylic paint and brush splinters blush a game of rummy suits and faces laugh to win a moon planets and meteor night-light licks a sun burn and wakes the waterside a sunset colors the scene eat the sky the wildlife health and hunger instinct moves a campfire spark and light smoke that binds a birdhouse scenes of flight waxwing and flycatcher a kite pontoon glides muscle that oars a fishing pole clubs to spade then lose to win a lake string the sky and wind the game a moon paints and brushes stroke the dark a sun cats that paw and damsel flies a campsite planets and meteor constellation prize a campfire instinct stands and moves distinct the wildlife the water wakes and tongues that burn a sunset lakeside sail and hills that view a game of rummy fish that fly and casts that dive a love father and daughter cannot be caught nor released Raspberry jam
learn prep and experiment Each breath tales trust inhales and doubt exhales Let’s begin – Strained stained fingertips apron and spoon Rubies bubble briar blood simmer the tune Muscles soar push and stir boil toil and confer Steam rising anticipation foils sap water soils Stains splash counter tops and pops Sticky signatures memory of sein and rain Of flame and flavor mallet pucker the palate Wound the wrist lick the fist marked me made me saved me Pans and pots root swarm the stove press the fruit cradle in jars and ladle too far hot glass cools as fingertips burn and yearn as fingertips fool it’s a waiting game lids and lips pop drop and seal tips dip and drop the sound of success the mark of progress 12 hours pass as the morning breaks the kitchen takes Rows of jars tinny ring and pars dip the knife strike the jelly slakes the belly jeweled gold at summer’s end gruel the bone as fortune’s grown this labor my love stain for need runs fire deep a taste experiment a love testament Let’s repeat – gnats spinning and turning and diving and burning around each other in the sunlit evening air. sunlight illuminates. underwater planets orbiting one another – do they ever stop or are they in perpetual motion? in a perpetual notion. the sun-bitten leaves nearby watch and wonder. bear silent witness to a dance ages old and seconds young. a moment captured and released. released and then seized again and again. until the cycle burns cold or is determined to keep going. destined to keep moving. to keep dancing. to keep living. there is no end. no beginning in sight. to their mathematical cadence and flight. precise and intentional. tick tock clocks click time. pendulum force. energy employed. exhausted. ignited. snuffed out and then revived by the will to survive. by the will of wing and trust. of light and thrust. of breath and must.
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AuthorI live to create. Archives
November 2025
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