frames

all i can do is sit and cry and cry / it’s a dream, surely it’s all a dream — i wish you had ever given me a chance // rain has pulled all the salt out of my eyes and i am flint — ash water and silver stone, i am fox-eyed and missing half my brain — words are just something i once knew how to use, but now they are all soap and water and i can’t get clean ;; maybe some day in the future i say, maybe then you’ll see — all i ever wanted, all i still want, was to stand by your side / some harbinger of sound pecks at the door, i am just wood and frames of a shelter, empty plaster and the reflections of signs on the asphalt puddles — it kept raining, and i kept wanting anything other than this world to be the one that was spinning // the clouds are laughing at me

in retrospect of the wound

A few weeks ago the light fell out of the trees ;; the river , a swamp now , and the gulping trusses of the branches gape at me ; oblong breath and armed monster teeth , shallow lunged I packed up my heart , tried to wrap a draw string around it , and left it at your doorstep / I wandered around the woods for days , May seems like a haze of thick air and buds in your hair ; of brassica family tones the thickness of bones when they crash against pavement // when I find the missing holes, I fill them with cracked clay ;; the sunlight is a shadow maker , my ashes are just fertilizer ;; nothing more wild than the tongue of the sky laughing up mayflies and gazing at misplaced rocks // nothing like the skyline of the city cracking the horizon like an egg , a fumbled sunset I am racing through ,, all the traffic lights and bumblebee license plates — the kerchief of a restaurant splayed like hands onto a street :: tumbles of spring light that fleck through water glasses and broken, unmasked laughter ;; the old clink of silverware and you, no where to be found ;;


Racing to the ocean at midnight to taste the ice cubes on your skin, the black shawl of the sky, the wildest comfort I can be granted ;; the thoughts I try to press out of my brain with a rolling pin ; the energy of cars that drive past places with names that have meaning to me now in retrospect of the wound

may 5

Even more new memories ;; like ripping up chunks of grass with my bare hands to build my own garden ; like getting trapped behind municipal gates; a car load full of compost in my trunk – the cops shaking their head at me , wondering why I need all this compost ;; like driving a stake into the ground , making a fence to keep my plants safe ;; like building a deck with my friend , throwing pallets onto the ground , screwing thick nails into the cheapest wood I could find , staining it a beautiful canyon brown ; new furniture ; looking for things I’ve never looked for before , like patio furniture , like extra plates and cups for guests ;; watching the wind topple everything over ; letting the pollen lay a thick dusting of yellow onto everything ; planting flowers , learning their names , picking them out , plunging my hands into the dirt , watering them , caring for them ;; listening to the rain as it dances on the roof of my tiny little house ;; patching up holes , repainting nicks, finding solutions to tiny leaks of light ; trying to find a rain barrel big enough to hold as much water as I’d like ; trying to pull water deep out of my well ; wash dishes with my sweet little gallon of water perched over the sink ; so much light leaking through all the windows ; pouring in to my little nest ; hammock strung up in the trees ; breezes always carrying soft scents ; the wishes of seeds that want to find the ground , carried on the wind ; Beltane and the first of May ; all the things my favorite month can do : all the things spring can bring ; the season where I am most alive , where my hands can find the dirt and sing to a seedling ; let it reach up and feel the rays of soft light – not fire yet, just the glaze of perfect warmth – a sudden toss of gentle rain , the flourish of so many buds , of so many blossoms , of so many new vegetables growing thick eyes and wide chests under the ground ; and all the little signs they send up above , all the mail they bring to my doorstep ; my watering can: my sweet new friend ; my bare feet, a hallelujah ; stringing up solar lights around my new gazebo , pulling the tent taught , karl holding the ladder while I reach and reach for a screw or a button or a hook ; the way we did it ourselves ; all the banging, tossing, screwing, sawing ; all the findings, searchings, piecing together of imaginings ; the sandbox of dragged rocks thick pulled from the creek – full with water knowledge , hidden in the woods , plopped next to my house , filled with play sand : now an imaginarium ; a planetarium ; a wild island just for one ; and the happy singing ; Jamie and his perfect oasis ; jumping on a tiny trampoline ; all the joy you cannot bottle , but that grows unkempt from the ground , never ending , always renewing , always the unending spring , always time enough to play, to laugh, to grow – to return to the dirt a small seed: graceful leaves a precious sail, a rudder on a green ocean ; wild in the sky and gracious in the grass