Archive | June 2012


I am driving.
And I am driving.
And driving I am
Windows let in
Wildflower ditch,
Green corn low
And burning eyes
That look upon
Bone medicine.
Drink it up now.

I am driving.
And I am driving.
And driving I am
Tracks cut through
Grassy medians
Leading to…
(Black etchings
On gray pavement
Have nothing to do with now.
Not now.)

I am driving.
And I am driving.
And driving I am
All those highways,
Wishing I had not
Lost the map.
The misplaced compass,
The calling of wind.
We wind
Our way
Back to…

I am driving.
And I am driving.
And driving I am
Looking behind.
Something is coming up
Fades to future.
And I am overtaking,
And suspended.
We are suspended in…

I am driving.
And I am driving.
And driving I am
Waltz the miles,
Lilting time.
Do not pass.
Do not pass.
To yield,
And follow those tracks
Back to…



“Everything’s possible, when you’re an animal.”
–David Byrne

Easing from preservation
To reformation,
This time is for collecting breaths
That they might arrive
Like breezes in the blue rooms
And captivate
What cannot be captured.

Nothing nefarious.
Just the desire
To be valued,
And in so being
To leave behind
This ship
That tarries
Over sun-bleached bones.

To embrace,
To embody
This delight,
She hopes to traverse
The rope that climbs
From root to branch
And again out into it —
Into acceptance
Of this obscene, glorious futility.

And yet revel in it–
Her sensual feast,
These bursting stars
And blushing blooms,
Yet other-worldly,
And speaking of the unseen current.

Hands in hands,
Voices, arms —
So far past the mechanical now,
This deep resonance
Of our biology.
Channel from eye
To make it so much more
Than can be encompassed
By thought, word, deed.

No longer in it,
Nor of it —
Hips like chimes
Mimic the grand, hidden
And apostolic eyes own it,
Reflect it back.
These chords sing it.
This belly nourishes it.
This heart transforms it.

Swallows and finches
Punctuate the prairie.
A heron’s slow blue progress
Catches us in memories —
Cooper’s hawk and cormorant,
The lone loon.

It is everywhere,
This honey-sweet June reformed,
And remade in new birthing,
With tense anticipation
As a branch bends
To touch it.

And I am no longer in it.
And I am no longer of it.
It is everything.
And we are one and the same.