26 January 2012

Held


Giant gentle hand of blue cups the ground
allowing space for bird-doings on wind-waves
and the travels of a gracious ball of fire
I see us -
still and breathing -
suddenly aware of being held 
feeling ourselves sheltered by the right hand of lit-through blue
and noticing ourselves cradled from below
by the broad left hand of the world -
soil or sea
In this place it is
a mirror-of-universe lake
A hummingbird got trapped in the garage one day
She couldn’t figure out the difference between glass and sky
so she accepted a ride from me
My hands opened wider than they ever had
to give her a little sphere of air 
and an experience of rapid deliverance
I could feel no part of her 
although I knew we were touching each other
She exited my fingers at forty-five degrees
and I never saw her stop
Vast are her realms
travelled by three-inch weightless wings
and sown with secrets
She will never fill me in
she will never catch me up
but she did let me watch her move
in her knowing
The air is her place
There she squabbles with her decorated foes
and the density of sky is enough
To her I am like nothing so much as a glacier
groaning and roaring with my unseemly millennial gestures

So: blue hand of protection above, that’s hummingbird business
So I will stand and watch for signs of learning in her flights
She will have to wait hummingbird ages and epochs 
to witness my progress
through big warmed earth waters
across a sheet of silver shine
She might stick around to see
or maybe just meet me on the other side 
at a point we can both relate to
I will crawl through the water in my innocent exertions
hands practicing letting go of what can’t be held 
in order to awkwardly move forward
And soon the mud will rise to meet me
I will enter a forest of slender slippery stalks
and then if I look up beyond the green-brown surface
I will see her quickly bow in the pink petal cup that I have come for
There among its tender points
she approaches its inner castle of saffron seeds
she sips the lotus heart
I breathe honey 
rich lily dust of freshness fertility confusion bliss coats me
We are held in the flower-hand together
in a smaller kiss
shared on the border where light sneaks in
between the hands of the world
The same place where life flows out like water
if we attempt to hold all of this
for more than the moment 
in which it is given

6 January 2012

Thank You, Leonard Cohen




























~Ring the bells that still can ring
forget your perfect offering
there is a crack in everything 
that’s how the light gets in~  L.C.
Fresh start looks good from down here
from my dirt-blood knees
my scored hands
my jarred vision -
what, again?
Yes, again.
Now?
Yes.  Now.
Go ahead.
Ring the fresh start bell, Leonard.
Take the mallet, worn to satin 
from each of our falls needing each of your calls,
take it in your old unfailing fingers of song
and bring forth a sound of willingness 
from your breached bell.
From the breached bell of all 
that reaches to us from the ground,
bring me the sound.
Curl your note into my ear
your note carried across wilds 
of another breath,
another yes, 
a willingness,
I will.
I am sore and ridiculous
I am so very low down here
but I will hear you, Leonard.
I will grab that slippery savior over there -
that root angel sent down by tree gods -
and wobble up
into the fresh cracked egg 
of everything.