Washing the wall

This morning

I finally washed that wall

The one in the bedroom

He smashed his drink against.

I wiped out the streaks

The tear stains in the gray.

I am not sure why it took so long.

Perhaps I needed the reminder?

But a year is long enough 

To watch my wall weep.

Laurel

Oct. 17, 2022

sage caves

Ah...this desert...she is easy to admire from afar, but to truly love her, you have to risk a walk with her roughness, learn to navigate around the edges of her eruptions. You will need to drop into her darkness, lose yourself amongst her ice altars and befriend her demons. You will be required to emerge from her brooding disquiet and still find her beautiful.

Cliff Lake

Morning is a trio of blue herons flying low above the emerald pools, their rattling cries echoing high in the rocky cliffs. Two bald eagles perch high in a pine across the lake, exchanging low, throaty greetings and chattery calls. A lone bat scoops one last gnat off the placid face of the water as dragonflies rise to take on the chase among the tall grasses and lakeside willows. A pair of green darners tangle in the air above my head, whirring furiously, their wings click and their bodies lock as they spin earthward. My red prijon stretches lazily at the waters edge, her stern nosing gently into the lake while her bow firmly grasps the land. And a cup of coffee from the jet boil warms my hands as the sun saunters into the sky dressed in apricot and violet.

Rewarming

Take my hands
if you can bear the chill
for I have tucked them
tightly in crossed arms
but still my body shivers

read my palm, the line
that refused to rise,
and tell me if you see
what I already know

my heart line is the constant
master of my head line
my life line is splintered
frayed across my palm

draw your finger through
the furrows, where the fragrance
of forget-me-not still lingers,
warm peaches and mandarin
that leaves a bitter bite

chart a course around each callous
like a brand new journey
on a worn out map and leave
a trail of silver pennies
a shining path on moonless night

whisper encouragement
like kisses on my fingertips
until the blood rush
gives them warmth

and when I can bear them
when the bite of frost
has at last released
Take my hands

Laurel
Sept. 14, 2022

Effervescent

September 25, 2022, 5:30 a.m.

I make my way to the hot spring and immerse myself in the healing waters.
Overhead, Taurus shines bright in the still black sky, standing guard between Orion’s notched arrow and the daughters of Atlas.
Mars has shifted and now rests above the tip of the bow, a burning ember eye watching the brilliant constellations.

Leaning against the rocks edging the water, I wait.
I watch them fade as rising day flannels the sky behind me with soft grays and pinks.
I wait, and I listen as bubbles rise from the hot spring source, a constant, soft-sizzle as they break the surface tension in the stillness…
irrepressible effervescence.

flame skimmer