Landscape

In Maine

I have watched the greatest of my days from a distance in Maine.  

I remember each one vivid with color. 

I have seen the arch of mortality from the summit of Bald Rock Mountain.

Disgracing the godliness of my mother, this earth. 

 

The clouds talk to me in Maine, and I listen back with trust.

They are always telling me that the sky is about to fall.

The only thing left holding it up are the branches of the trees. 

And soon they will be gone too. 

 

Everything dies in Maine. 

This time of year, everything dies. 

Lullaby

we wait for the rain to fall

(same rain that falls over

     Gulfport, 

          Monteagle, 

               Portland) 

your hair of white petals & fingers of roots--

the water softly washing away

                              insecurity

at night the dreams of you & I(roots grown into blossoms)together

roots of earth & rain

     sustaining 1000 secrets

 

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i wish to be alive as a songbird

i wish to be alive as a songbird

whispering secrets of universe & yes

(their language no novice can know)


i wish to be alive as a songbird

raise my eyes towards the heavens

& today smells like pine(needles)


i wish to be alive as a songbird

to exist in emotion,feelgood sonnets

escaping my inner as forgotten


i wish to be alive as a songbird

believe,not answer all the questions

(no)body can be (god)


i wish to be alive as a songbird

i wish & i do singsongsing

alive to be

The Sea

Rolling & purring & crashing so

fierce waves smash upon the lazy east coast

And ah, the sea! The beautifully ancient & haunting sea! 

Filled with washed up love & ship-wrecked dreams

 

Old man paces, folded arms behind his back

& steadies himself from a wave's swift crash

We all grow old, we all grow frail

I've seen the youth of my life set sail

 

But so yet the sea, wild & wide & mysterious sea! 

Contains something greater than all of humanity

Contains maybe god itself

(or maybe we contain god ourselves) 

 

Old man falls from the swift, evil tide

Lands on the sand beneath his left side

Lands on solid ground

(or maybe this is hollowed ground) 

 

All of the chatter of the birds & the waves

Cover sacred silence where a greater destiny is laid

Laid pinned upon its back

(or maybe we are pinned too) 

 

Pinned to our restlessness, almost as the sea

Ah, the sea, the sea--purring brother to you and me! 

Surfacing both pleasure & pain upon its silver caps

Reminding us all of the constant, the changing, the past

 

(Tybee Island, GA)

(Tybee Island, GA)

Time in Mississippi

Down here time moves more slowly.

 

Delta: raw body of America, washed up through veins of the beloved Mississippi River.

At dusk the darkness comes alive with sounds of foreign creatures. They each have an attitude mocking the laughing south. 

 

The lullaby of a slow-moving train, the southern draw of front porch folks, the ascension of the lazy sun.

 

At daybreak the warm, thick air wakes you by striking you clean across the face; exotic smells of earth and clay and water.

Gulf Coast: glass magnolia leaves follow you south and then transform into another vastly different terrain.

 

Time stops at this edge of the country, where waves and highway isolate the past in the present from the rest of the world. 

 

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Sunset in Alabama

I've seen my life before me

like a sunset in Alabama

 

Watercolor sunbeams

washed against a cloudless sky

Dirt red as blood

pumping through the heartland

Silken wheat beds

rolling endlessly along the plains

 

Evangelical church revival

 (Wednesday evening)

they pray for their sins and ours

 

Remembering times of youth

(Childhood fantasies) 

like a fragile magnolia flower

  

I've seen my life before me

like a sunset in Alabama

 

 

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by accident

for a single moment time stopped
 

& there we were, not realizing exactly who we were, but rather what we could be

at some rural ice cream hop in upstate NY, golden beams simmering down to whispering strokes in a july sky

grabbing a dole whip, flinging half of it behind an abandoned strip mall & stopping at a rest station before heading for the falls

the damp desolated restroom squeezing life from every corner of the warm thick air
 

there are certain unspeakable joys found in simple things (brilliant greens found in midwest midsummer nights) that are forgotten until remembered

& that's where i found myself: by accident at a dairy stand among nobody familiar & a painter, when for a single moment time stopped

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