The Wind

Be with the wind,

dear child,

be with the wind

because the wind will never fail you.

It tells it like it is:

present yet invisible

until it pounds its mighty fist,

roof tiles falling,

refugees sprawling;

the next day gentle,

subtle whispers on the cheek,

nature calling,

mother asking

for a forgiveness she does not owe.

 

Be with the wind

because “wind” is just a word,

because “truth” is not a story

or a prayer or a hymn.

 

The only truth is beneath our feet,

in the air that speaks

with an ask that is beyond forgiveness,

a force reminding us

that change is imminent.

 

November 23, 2019

Intention

The simplest intention

each lesson of life

gifts you

should not build you up

but build you down,

break off the complicated factions

the world threw at you

and release them

into the wind.

 

September 10, 2016

One for Love

A gentle tap.

A slight placement

of a hand,

carefully, on my back.

Eyelids perched

on radiant,

story-layered skin.

The sound

of your kiss

like the rain;

the taste

of your breath,

a summer wind.

Your gaze

tells me you have

everything,

right here.

I trace your lips

to remind you

I am

only extra.

 

January 27, 2016

You

So you–

you–

want to write a poem?

 

Start by walking out your front door

and saying hello to every face you meet:

bird in the sky,

leaf on the lawn,

a summer wind falling gently over you

and you still–

still–

want to write a poem?

 

After an over-worked day at the office

gray cubicles and clear ice cubes clinking

on paper cups I just want to make sure

I’ve heard you right:

you,

who wakes up every morning

just to paint the sunrise;

you,

who tallies ticket orders

and buys Christmas presents,

builds log cabins

and feeds the homeless;

you

who has ever wondered

what your place is on this Earth–

you

want to write a poem?

 

The Earth hears your beckoning,

is waiting for you

to open up

open the door to your soul

and realize that man-made

will always have its limits…

the mountain peak will always

surpass Mountain Dew

and wild thoughts fall flat

onto to the blue horizon,

spread out like a quilt

nature made just for you.

 

Hear it whisper,

my dear,

that beating in your heart.

 

You mustn’t

simply

write a poem.

 

You are the poem.

 

December 9, 2015