robins

good morning spring, again. from the ancient art of dreaming i just arisen, might take to baking cakes. how pleasure does unfold, thin lines of me moving out among the places that have agreed to another day.

the spongy me delights in discovery while the waterwashed stones of my underbelly assemble until the outline of the seer becomes nearly more than a shadow. i make my dali list in a logical fashion, and a glimpse of the sun sends my heart romping into worlds i long assumed dead.

if there could be a deeper explanation of possibility, if we could permeate together the heart of this mystery that in silence and song, belong to responsible abandon, there might only remain the sweetest memory of light. with two hands the exploration continues, i close my eyes, then open.

my tethers to this earth have come from far to play. i think about a river of words rushing through the space between mountains and a shelved dictionary. today i want to be an anonymous observer in the middle of everywhere. i turn in my "responsible for responding" pass to wander unencumbered. perhaps RuMi invaded me between the soothsayers and irony of my dreaming. this orgasmic breathwork is line and shade as i organize plans for the new orchard.

it must be the growing up that allows me to sit quietly folding laundry as i wait for thunder.

n

nightingale

i am floating on the back of motherhood, waving like a reed underwater in these undulating currents. i chart the moon into darkness, falling upon the valleys of transit with exhaustion and a collaborative ecstasy. inquisitions move through me by the thousands. huge ships filled with endless party-goers they pass, chanting riots in the phantom sun; could it be that after her voice walked into our morning grey, i will be filled with the fast beating of heart any time i hear her sing again? what does this have to do with me /you? my mind wanders into making new combinations of letters into meaning.

i find myself braiding, each thin strand mesmerizes as it lifts, catching the light before falling into the thickening sheen. i think i'm preparing for a quiet ceremony. while i have learned the quantum benefits of letting loose in the garden of appreciating, i stand close enough to the acrid smell of tragedy that it gathers like smoke behind my tongue. we talk about death and the peace of beginning to feel again bleeds across my big screen.

the lights of the car behind me signal to pull over and make friends with the law, i decide to just be the sleepy regular human that i am feeling. this decision leads me to a river of authenticity. i skinny dip with a smile.

i drink jasmine tea well beyond midnight, folding deeper into this most intimate sanctuary. my fingers cool quickly as blood slows into sleep. will i dream again in shadow boxes? maybe.

nmw

Love letters III

Does this pouring over of fertileness beget my femininity? And if so, do i dare to share the experience of the masculine half within, rising in awe and honor, until circles of white heat pour from my own heart?

There is no nudity here, or even evidence of sex appeal. While biology inevitably and with grace spirals out from each breath, this meeting is upon the back of spirit. A continuous climax of space, an awareness of unity between such opposites.

~~

How alluring, the majical cry of as we defy this futile blessing of playing at autonomy, that some essence greater than our own arises. And with what shape can we perceive to be both creator and witness?

Recently i have delighted in a release of the desire to understand or even be understood by you. Forgoing the common courtesy of bending into a shape quite not mine that you may feel respected and seen has left me naked in a way that often presses against my comfort like ice. Yet in this willingness our communion has become, amongst the tiniest galaxy, post-phenomenological.

~

This new space, owned by neither and felt by both, multiplies unfounded. I pound pavement that the sun and my lungs and legs can agree on some form of earthly congruency. Sweaty and smiling i design the ways that i might again feel the heat of my body coming back from yours.

~NmW