 |
When
you left
I
swore off hunting
for
reasons I wasn't
good
enough.
Now,
here I am,
pike
and pole,
keeping
a
weather
eye
in
case you come back
to
remind me.
Monday, February 8, 2016
Thursday, February 4, 2016
Wing and Wind
Mama
chestnut-backed chickadee
flew
in our 70's window
and
landed on our
scarlet,
gold and green rug.
After
a few moments
she
sputter-flew up to the windowsill,
as I
held my breath, hoping
she
could see her escape.
At
last, I urged, Go, little girl---
and
she lit out,
quick
as wing and wind could carry,
while
I
peered
at the question of sky,
as I
do now,
heart
throbbing,
wings
trembling,
for
wherever the wind might take me.
Wednesday, January 27, 2016
Poet's Pen Strokes
 |
|
morgueFile |
She
was born
with a
bottle
of
blue darkness
inside
her.
When
the light
cracks
the
glass,
shafts
of light
splintering
the
container,
the
darkness
spreads
inky
arms,
stretching
through,
reaching
out/into
everything
she
is, she's been, has yet to see
and
exits
on
pages
needing
both dark and light
to
come
to be.
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