Senbazuru

July 10, 2019 § Leave a comment

Instead of stone, I will be paper
Conscientiously, with simple folds
remembering what I have already learned
Several times over.
I am folding a thousand cranes.
I am seeking calm in valley and mountain
and traveling toward the understanding of
where patterns fall and rest,
the solace of geometry.
Restraint is not control, and control is not peace
In this exercise there is no place
For scissor cuts, for the force of blades
on something that will not take
the shape of my wishes.
I have stopped counting
the ones behind me and those ahead.
At my peril, I will be paper;
Within me, enfolded, the breath of my patience.

9/5/2005

So maybe

June 9, 2019 § Leave a comment

So, maybe

Writing

Is firefly light, flashing over water

and a hope for something

other

than my own reflection, there.

5/20/19

May Cats

May 2, 2019 § Leave a comment

Now is the time for all good cats
to rise up from their afternoon naps
and shed the bulky, cold weather coats
leaving them on their keepers’ laps.

5/2007

Aesop’s Crow

January 21, 2019 § Leave a comment


Three things.

There are things I can love safely

and I pour myself into to them

desperate for a new shape.

I see myself doing it,

tipping my pieces out

and saying, “At least this–”

Because my whole life, it has been

the pebbles that save me

pebbles in a vase, raising the water

so I can drink.

I put a shape inside a shape,

culmination of acquisitions

Because when you pile up seeds

you can make a mountain

No special faith required

just one after the other until there is enough.

And I believe that, almost,

I have faith in that promise.

Every day could have three things, safe to love.

Five minutes to learn a language;

A phone app game motivates a walk;

And a poem, why not?

It’s a holding pattern, yes,

I know.

It’s also a shape

A form my life can take

So I can address my need.

Nightly Rising

October 10, 2018 § Leave a comment

“Nightly Rising”

In satin pools of blood, reflection drowned.
She saw her face within the shining eye
of he who stank of cemetery ground,
who drained her to her death but not to die.

The looking glass is blank when she slides by,
never again her image to be found.
To darkness and to endless desire bound,
she creeps beneath the haunt of the cold sky.

Mirroring a mirror, unknowingly,
The pale glide of that celestial body,

Nightly rising with sickle dripping white,
the pulse of day changed to a pallid flow
of stolen life for a dead satellite,
that immortal older than she below.

6/12/2006

.Sleep Together.

August 30, 2018 § Leave a comment

This warm presence nearby
trusts me enough to
sleep
at my side.
Placid, even breaths
measure the stretches of our time
together.
On the crest of slumber, I hear
his heart,
a soothing sound, as steady as waves.
When I, too, sink into the deep
our dreams will mingle like
sand and tide,
the tangled track of our waking days
Washed blank when spirits
meet and part
and bodies rest, touching.

 

August 27, 2005

Aya

August 23, 2018 § Leave a comment

All the doors and windows open,

you left the place where you had lived,

and the home we had together

will be so, so empty of you now.

Today I will celebrate you,

Every day I will celebrate you,

who loved me

In a way I understood.