Saturday, October 11, 2014

Poems from the Dead of Winter

Poems from the Dead of Winter

Winter is coming
I can feel the warmth leaving
My body

Sky grey
Lost with the gulls
Flying without purpose

And inside
There is ice clinging
To my heart
Though my soul burns . . .

I am fading
I am already half a ghost
I don’t even recognize
In the mirror


There is a distance
I must travel
Before nightfall
And I am afraid
Will not

Petrel wings in the storm shut sky
cannot take me home
home where the earth lies hushed
awaiting my touch
my breath
a lover’s presence after long


sitting in the dead of night
eyes lifting to lights upon the horizon
mind follows reckless
with no safe perch to rest on
and I fly all night
through the cutting wind
‘til I cannot think anymore
and sleep finds me is a stranger’s position
in the coldness of a loved one’s bed


She is gone into winter
And silence holds me tight
The same silence I dance with
Each day
Each night

I wonder
If her soul is speaking even now
Or her heart
Or her mind
And what is she saying
To bring us together
To keep us apart

I am a stranger
To the inner doors of her heart
And though it is hers to know
even she has lost the keys


Swiftly now
Love comes to root
In soil hard from winter
And though it is known
That love is hardy
It can only prosper
With the gentlest of
A little sun and rain

Hurry now
The Gardener is

Elegy For Summer

she died in summer
leaving flowers wilting
by the kitchen window
leaving a voice caught
and spun
in the wandering light
from hallway to room
and now the seasons are all
by shadow
by silence
by a warmth and color
that pales and flutters
in the empty spaces
where it will never be summer



        in the thorns and brambles
        I found her
        wings, both tangled, bound and lifeless
        fragile as rice paper in the rain
        I spoke to her with words she's never heard
        I touched her with fingers she'd never felt
        and her eyes, like honey in a clouded glass
        saw nothing
        but reminders of a privilege passed
        of a falling without grace
        she mocked her own betrayal
        she chewed with ravenous hunger
        the bitter herbs she had so blindly gathered
        she wept at the loss of something never
        'til now . . .
        she wept for the stars now beyond reach
        the moon so distant and cold
        heaven's door closed to one's own daughter
        she wept until there was only emptiness
        in her heart
        and then she turned to me without fear
        without begging
        and thought she knew me
        for some other purpose
        and ending perhaps--
        with the knife I played my part
        in her lifelong drama
        now forever a part of mine
        as her screams cut me as deep
        I too remembered
        holding the severed remnants:
        the beauty of their texture, the lightness
        of their structure
        the simplicity of their purpose
        the miracle
        and I remembered as well
        the sadness of such memories
        I held her gently, feeling the darkness
        flow from her wounds with each heartbeat
        and her hands crept around me
        on my own scars
        desperately trying to believe

        that she was not alone