The Dragonfly Tree

The hard fall

2007-10-14T06:11:00.000-07:00

October weight settles on maples
in thick wet mounds that bend
branches until they rip
away from limbs.

Power lines bow and bounce
beneath white as it slips
off in long, crashing dashes
and a citywide blackout
brings traffic to a freeze.

I’ve pushed the bed
against the window
and lie pillowed in the frame
watching early snow
frock my backyard.

As beautiful as it comes,
I know this kind of falling
soaks through carefully worn
layers until it chills the skin.

Man Enough to be a Daddy For Adam

2007-09-29T12:51:00.000-07:00

I see you with your little girls
and it makes me think 'bout my dad
'cause every look you glance their way
reminds me of the good I've had

I know the way she feels your strength,
how she cries against your shoulder
The love that gives her boundaries,
and the tenderness that holds her

She won't see until she's older
how much you gave to see her smile,
the ache that grows with distances,
how much love fills an empty mile.

While I can't stop the shadows
that will follow you through badlands,
I can pray you through the sharp turns
that take you far from tiny hands.

So from one daddy's daughter
to another daughter's daddy
keep being exactly what you are...
her champion, her Gandhi.

Misplaced Mountain Laurel

2007-09-29T12:50:00.000-07:00

I don’t think I should be here
among the star gazers and velvet
tongued empresses, I am awkward

petals and stiff limbs, my leaves
do not fade and fall, I am never reborn
nor do I return to earth to poke
my way into warmth. Snow settles

on my evergreen sleep, wind rattles
through branches that do not bare.
Yet every summer, when the sun
moves away, pink and white

blossoms remind me I am
more than just a shrub.

The stars are getting high

2007-08-28T10:16:00.001-07:00

Ketchum smoke hangs
fog-like, ghosts the limestone
cliffs and mountain mahogany
of Pass Creek Canyon.

I’ve scrambled up to peek
in the small mouth of a cave
above camp and hiked
among pines to taste afternoon
warmth. In the tent, kids
cocoon in hard-play sleep
and blue nylon bags.

Firelight licks the Merlot
in my plastic cup as the haze
lifts and I see Orion’s belt
span a dark delta. The air
is clearing as if zodiacs are
inhaling the burning grass.

Summer Solstice

2007-07-11T12:09:00.000-07:00

It’s 4 a.m. and sunlit
grass bobs in the breeze,
tall and summer heavy
where we sprawl,
almost touching.

A masked waxwing darts
through quaking aspen,
chirping as he flits away
on crimson-dipped flight.

Cicada tymbals chatter,
and our laughter
gurgles spring-like
as your gaze reflects
the opulent caramel
of Tiger’s Eye.

And though I am afraid
of waking, I lean
across to kiss you.

closing the miles between

2007-06-21T14:16:00.000-07:00

I can’t look at mountains
without wanting you
trekking ahead of me,

leading me to summits
I would not explore alone,
taking me to a world
where only you and I

see the vastness of time
rise to touch eternity
as history spreads
in peaks and valleys.

Western clouds gather
to rumble and spill.
How many thunderstorms
will resound through my pane

with flashes of light
and tremulous echoes
before my heart stops
waiting for you?

Petticoat Peak

2007-06-01T10:48:00.000-07:00

A wooden frame stands
on her rocky top
time-gray and warped.
Rusted penny nails hold
cracked boards carved
with names and years
as far away as 1919.

To the east, Salt River’s
snowy peaks are prairie points
binding ground blocks;
fresh plowed brown
and new-growth green
quilted by pivots and roads.

Below us, a dust devil
curls a dirty column
from exposed soil,
winds into oblivion
on a grass border.

Westward, mountain tops
fan across Earth's palm
like a hand of cards
dealt for play and cool
breezes venture fragrant
offerings of sage across
the windswept ridges
of Fish Creek Range.

Stones and Rainbows

2007-05-17T14:39:00.000-07:00

Needles of Lodgepole fasten
sheets of charcoal clouds
to the ridgeline of the narrow
canyon between Butte and Helena.

An outburst of hail ricochets off asphalt
and spatters the windshield, slows
our snake along I-15 north and fills
the truck with banging of riotous cymbals.

Caliginous light blurs spring grass
a dusky jade silk as we round a corner
and clouds brush back to watercolor
refracted rays across pine valleys.

where wild cranberries grow

2007-05-03T13:19:00.000-07:00

Through a veiled grove
of golden leaves quaking
on an autumn whisper,

there is a valley where clear
springs spill over a rim
of granite into a pooled

reflection of shivering
moon, where wild blueberry
and fireweed flame a scarlet

edge for evergreens, and night
lights weave the tarp of stars
with jade and rose auroras.

Here, the step of Mother Earth
is a pliant tumble of tundra.

Sunday Inspirations

2007-05-02T13:34:00.000-07:00

It’s 5 a.m. and I’m awake
listening to your breath come
in deep-dream swells, the wind
singing in the chimes outside,

and the muffled rumble of metal wheels
pulled along iron tracks punctuated
by the caution-cry of crossing.

I shift and you stir enough to curl
your fingers over the curve of my shoulder
and my thoughts drift to an image

of your hands curled around ski poles,
the smooth shift and glide of your legs
propelling thin skis, the solid silhouette
of your body against the stark snow,

and the way you smile just before we kiss.
How you stopped to listen to birds
chattering in willows along Pebble Creek
and said you prefer comfortable quiet, too.

Today we'll ski in a cathedral of cottonwoods
you'll show me where hawks swooped down
with outstretched wings and left
feathered angels in the snow.

to define missing

2007-05-02T13:19:00.000-07:00

You fill the idle minutes
and margins of calendar days
crowded with city traffic,
meetings, and company clatter.

Images of the tracks we left
in melting snow and juniper
pressed against mountain
mahogany fill the space
between lines of marketing copy
and attachments waiting for production.

No matter the direction my day spins,
you are north in the compass of drifting
thoughts, the trembling exhalation
of breath I pull deeply into me
when the air of your absence
condenses into a pressing mist.

McGown Peak

2007-05-02T12:45:00.000-07:00

At midday she smolders
terra cotta, a red saw blade
rising from Stanley Lake,
a ragged granite boundary.

Even in August
when meadows bloom
purple Penstemon
and ginger Castilleja,

snow clings
to the deep gullies
and the Finger of Fate
is solid, enduring
and cold.

Capella Street, Star

2007-05-02T12:41:00.000-07:00

My next house will be in the country,
not against some crowded suburb
sidewalk where all the roads are named
for what shines in our galaxy.

I hear angry voices down dark streets
and I want to shut more doors, more
windows, more ears. On heated nights
when the past comes muffled
through my pane,

I ache for the flutter
of air in aspen green.

Dreams in Half-Light

2007-05-02T12:39:00.000-07:00

In the space between twilight
and deep sleep, leaves flutter
against the ripstop roof
and sweet wild rose slips
in the zippered door;
draws us out to the night.

A silver scar traces the face
of the dusky mountain;
slices through a beard
of sage and juniper
littered with cockle burrs
that tangle in our laces
and cling to our hem
as we clutch for a foothold
in the sliding shale.

We summit on a silhouette
of limestone lip haloed
in chalk moon and watch
owls traverse the tattered ridge.

dragonfly totems

2007-03-05T09:21:00.000-08:00

a needle pierces apple seeds,
threads a segmented body
on red string; highlights
painted on vellum
faux iridescent wings,
mocks the nymph that climbs
colored sand and spreads wet
wings over a beached nautilus,
waits for the transformation
that gives her the strength to fly.
Geometric eyes search the periphery
of this second birth to land
filled with strange quarks
as spermatozoid waves
below the concentric shudder
of meniscus tapped by a Meadowhawk
tying a never ending knot.

**************************************
Challenge poem:
with these components write a mandala poem

apple seeds
colored sand
quarks
string
never ending knot

and as well,
adding in to the poem
all of the following words:

concentric
transformation
spermatozoid
geometric
nautilus
periphery
highlights

Gretel’s empty pockets

2007-02-05T14:56:00.001-08:00

the sun was licking
honey from your hair
and in the deep pool
your stirring fingers
lifted a glittering globe
snow-like

this was not floating
but settling
and you do it
over and over
stirring,
waiting,

settling,
and there I was pocketing
white stones to take home,
something to remember
that day when all around
you sand glittered.

I wonder if on some moon
bathed night, you’ll search
for what was dropped
along the way, for a glow
path to bring you back
to a honey-sated sun.

Hansel,
I should have given you a wing
bone to poke through the bars
of what cages you,
but now I am convinced,
the witch had eaten
what heart you had.

Kassi's last dance

2007-01-19T15:51:00.000-08:00

he hates driving in the rain
says it reminds him
of air-brushed birds

a small white car and pieces
of a prom dress ragging
out of shattered glass
like a dove’s broken wing

how they pulled her out
through holes cut in the roof
blood sweating from the leaves
of the pink corsage pinned over her heart

he told me for weeks
his dreams had been filled
with poppies and crows

hot springs

2007-01-19T09:21:00.000-08:00

We first lay down among flowers.
A moon flower in your hand
scents a course across my lips

to hips that mock the splay
of petals, your mouth, a night
moth following pollen fortune.

Gravity abandons and we rise,
climbing the cusp of Venus
to a heaven pillowed
in the wings of Pleiades.

Thighs interlaced, we dive
and tumble earthward.
Star jeweled, our bodies

facets of a spinning pavilion
plunge into the misty veil
of Loftus Springs where nature’s heat

slides over an arc of rock
and ripples recite
the magnitude of our waves.

************************
Author's Note:
This poem was written for a poetry challenge with the following parameters:

Write an erotic poem about making love in water that begins with the following first line and uses all of the following five nouns and five verbs.

We first lay down among flowers.

thighs
pavilion
hand
fortune
bodies

mock
pillowed
recite
jeweled
abandons

Thanks to Zen Master Ikkyu for the word list and first line.

swallowing the sun

2007-01-15T07:24:00.000-08:00

Sparrows forage through thorns
for a taste of clustered sun,
morning glitters a crystal
frost etching the edge
of a dragon-wing leaf.

Winter’s chill shifts as January
dives into lesser degrees
and gathered sticks hold
a promise of fervent heat.

May will plait crowns
for fairies and angels
who dance night blessings
among evergreen amulets.

But tonight, we’ll drift
a snowfall moon.
Day is a hawthorn berry
swallowed.

drunken fingers

2007-01-09T18:07:00.000-08:00

she is trying to unlock him
through a grape haze,
but her hands fumble at the keys
and the backspace is littered
with the letters she trips over

she flattens her hand
over the base of the Waterford
stem on the counter and dips
her fingers in the bowl of merlot

pinning the glass in place,
she traces the rim with her wet
index leisurely, decisively until
the crystal sings.

you breathe differently down here*

2006-12-30T20:44:00.000-08:00

I have come through
high snowy gullies
foraging for warmth

a pressing in my chest
set by an unfamiliar
altitude lifts as I descend

to walk barefoot
among broken shells
in washing waves.

A salty mist settles
against my skin,
even the air is saline.

A white-belly moon
reflects the expanding
ripples of skipped pebbles

for a brief moment
before a rolling swell
reels them under.

December 30, 2006
*title from Diving Into the Wreck by Adrienne Rich

Leah's Well

2006-12-24T21:02:00.000-08:00

I watch her release and draw again,
scattering sand down wet walls
as she leans over mortared stones
as far as she can reach,

a dark rope wrings
through the pulley wheel,
slips on drips and damps
her palms as she pulls

and strains at the weight,
the twisted twine is frayed
and when it snaps perhaps

then I will understand
what thirst goes unquenched
by a bucket never tipped.

treasure valley on display

2006-12-24T20:57:00.000-08:00

the sky has been robbed
of the strings of black pearls
that unlatched in early fall

winging their way south
with transitory calls
and constantly shifting vees

a persistent drizzle damps
cottonwoods along the banks
of the Boise and ground fog

rises between desert sage
as warmth wanes in a sunset
of chilled champagne

snow goads antelope
from craggy gullies
to graze the wild grasses

still abundant along I-84
and dusky light rays chisel
living sandstone statues

I did not want you to miss
this. When shadows shift
everything is rearranged.

snapdragon

2006-12-15T10:58:00.000-08:00

I am simple, pale petals and sturdy stem
tucked between stargazers and amethyst temples,
tangled among moss roses and morning glory.

He comes to our bed with a tender’s touch;
without bruising or uprooting, his hands
enclose my blossom and gently press me open.

exactly the gray

2006-12-08T12:06:00.000-08:00

Everything about this morning is gray;
the mountains are charcoal etchings
scribbled across a confederate canvas,

even the mist rising off the river is hazy
and dull. Naked branches raise stark
limbs, sway and bow in the wind

like Pentecostal repenters
in a tent revival meeting.
The color has drained from the sky,

and the sun hovers overhead
a dry white wafer swallowed
by a thick cloak of cloud.

Traffic is slow, it's always this way
the first day it snows and mom
is on my cell saying she prays for me.

lalli's lullaby

2006-12-01T10:52:00.000-08:00

don't you cry, baby mine, don't you weep
rock-a-by, close your eyes go to sleep
as you dream, i'll be near all through the night
when you wake, i'll be here to hold you tight
rock-a-by, close your eyes, go to sleep

don't you cry, baby mine, don't you weep
angels watch over you as you sleep
stars that shine are their light in the darkest sky
now go see stars that fly in a lullaby
angels watch over you as you sleep

*a lullaby for my babies

new-penny snow

2006-11-29T15:29:00.000-08:00

the sun coppers clouds
sends pennies sledding
down slopes of new snow

in the single digit chill
and lines of stopped traffic
my thoughts are speeding east
to the powder-filled bowl

and i see us laughing
wet-mittened snow-fort
fights, cold-nose kisses,
leaving snuggled angels
embossed in the white

boots puddling
at the back door
a crackling fire
and steaming mugs of mocha

abandoned on the coffee table
as the sun collects
his pennies in the west

because i'd rather be tasting you

2006-11-29T15:25:00.000-08:00

i want you in the steam
rising over morning coffee

in the heat radiating
from the mug i fold into my hand

in the rim i tip to my lips
and swallow warmth from

Things That Fall From the Sky

2006-11-01T10:58:00.000-08:00

Grass gone to seed
splays in flaxen layers
over the silent wings
of wandering gliders
and Paiute dancers
discarded by the last
summer wind.

I miss the pearly whirr
of odonata darting
among river reeds,
the length of bodies
arching into teardrops
or hearts, leaving ripples
of lovemaking between
exploded cattails.

snapshots

2006-10-30T15:22:00.000-08:00

I saw a photo today
a dragonfly clinging
to a stalk of fern, neatly
hidden in summer fans.

I wonder what artist
sought to secure
her in repose.

I think of you,
how your lens captures
a world I would not know
but for your hands.

Mornings blanketed
beneath ginger mist,
diaphanous film
floating through trees,

a honey bee hovering
over cobalt blooms.
I want to frame

the chrysoprase frog
resting in the corner
of a green window rail
and hang it above our bed.

destination Maggie Valley

2006-10-17T15:30:00.000-07:00

I am unfamiliar these days.
Mostly now I stir
before light slants
through slender blinds

The warmth of your body
ebbs with wakefulness
and for a moment I float
between dream and hunger.

Sunrise forms an orb
where splashes of passion
fruit roll over the Rockies,
spill and fill the valleys
in an ardent eastward run.

on seraphim and dragonflies

2006-10-17T15:23:00.000-07:00

seraph and dragonfly

together
we are
ten wings
soaring

dragonfly and seraphim

how humble this universe
where even the angels can’t soar
without our earthly smallness
without the wings of a dragonfly

dragonfly to seraph

how vast this heaven
I would not wing
but for your fire

seraphim and dragonfly

alight on the ether
a single wing’s breath
fires the stars
fires divinity

seraph’s fire

emblaze by breath
this fall of stars
it is your light
I sacralize

in spite of weeds

2006-09-30T16:18:00.000-07:00

in my backyard
a rose bush thrives
despite the thistle
i have neglected to pull
and the waste that i have
yet to nip off

a rising day meets
slumbering buds still wet
with night’s dew
and though it is early
pink petals unfurl
eager for the heat
of radiant touch

she brings me dragonflies

2006-09-27T07:46:00.000-07:00

she comes to me
with wide eyes
wonder-full
and arms outstretched

I have a gift for you
something I found

her delicate hands lift
the amber insect
in a small glass jar

perfectly intact
vellum wings
awkwardly drawn
under its body

sorting clouds

2006-09-19T11:34:00.000-07:00

morning came soft
on the summit of restless
sleep and elusive
visions

a conundrum of clouds
crowding the peaks
of Bogus Basin
in dits and dahs

decoding dreams
in blushes of apricot
and touches of plum
something gold is rising
... --- -- . - .... .. -. --. --. --- .-.. -.. .. ... .-. .. ... .. -. --.

blame it on the rain

2006-09-19T11:00:00.000-07:00

A cloudburst sweeps
fog from the river,
tinseling the fading day.

Warm drops puddle in cupped
leaves, running rivulets
down her upswept limbs
to pool in her roots.

She waltzes with the wind
a while, then turns
a tango with the tide.

You cannot fault the moon
for reflecting his pleasure
when clouds open and light
falls on a laughing tree.

road to the river

2006-09-19T10:46:00.000-07:00

In the rising mist, trees
are bodies bound by distance.

The muffled mirth of water
wrapping stones draws my step
from rutted paths to seek
seclusion pillowed in moss.

Mine are the only feet to mark
beside the tracks of whitetail
to follow along a willowed bank.

Hidden in the fold of grounded
clouds, filtered sunlight glosses
tips of rockripples and hands
reach out to hold the glow.

broken angel

2006-07-05T10:42:00.000-07:00

her edges are sharp
but i keep piling blue shards
in my hands, probing shadows
for the sting on my fingers
that brings splinters to light

glass wings are never as strong
as before they were shattered

understanding she will be
forever fractured
i puzzle her together

First stars and wishing wells

2006-05-01T11:53:00.000-07:00

First stars and wishing wells
-a poem for Aysia

Since the age of three
she’s been reciting familiar
rhymes and wishing on stars.

There’s a fountain in Ghirardelli Square,
sea turtles and mermaids on rocks
breastfeeding merinfants,
where wishes are made of coin.
In December she tossed in a dime.

The backyard is smothered
by yellow heads turning white.
Last summer, her small hands
held one out to me

look mommy, a wishing flower!
she closed her eyes and inhaled
formed a perfect pucker and blew
tiny parachutes into the air.

What do you wish for?
She looks up and whispers
you can’t tell wishes
they won’t come true.

But I know she wishes
for no such thing as
scattering.

The mower grinds and spits green.
I top one and watch seeds drift
off on the wind where wishes
are nothing more than weeds.

settling the dragonfly

2006-04-18T10:00:00.000-07:00

settling the dragonfly

She is delicate
on upturned fingertips,
a tentative murmur of
advancing and receding
blue, an iridized whirr
in moon flight.

She seeks an open palm,
thumbs that never press
or pin; hands that consider
her delicate wings.

A home with no walls,
no doors to close.
Love is not a portal.

Photo Snowdrifts

2006-03-17T13:03:00.000-08:00

Cold Snap

2006-02-02T16:06:00.000-08:00

Smoke from a late fire
smothers the sunrise
under a cranberry harvest;
smells of campfire puffs
on a corduroy brush jacket.

Irrigation ditches aflame
with seeded asparagus,
lick the last from puddle
mud and roll to sleep
under hoary grass.

Two years since that October
and here we are again, me
sitting at your feet trying
to tell you my life in Spanish,
laughing. You’ve been away
and I am out of practice.

As I stand to go, I read the poem
engraved in your granite
headstone and paper leaves swirl
around my feet on a breath
colder than glitter flakes
and black star voids.

Snowdrifts

2006-02-02T13:51:00.000-08:00

There’s an unrest in the way
snow reflects the moon tonight,
as though it waits for the whorl,
the deep sweep down the canyon
pushing white carpet into tumbled trips.

Aspen have shivered off
the last of sun-denied color
and the thrust of naked limbs
bears the weight of cratered light.

A whitetail nudges her weary
fawn under a yawn of winter-frocked
pine boughs, ears northward,
eyes skyward, watching the Hunter
notch a diamond-tip.

The nose of night
smells mercury dropping
long before the Rockies speak
a whisper that will be wind.

merciless winter

2006-01-31T08:21:00.000-08:00

snow is bitter, even
though it glitters
like silver pennies
in blinding sunlight.

there’s just enough
heat to melt a razor layer
that stabs when broken
not yet enough to absolve
completely.

nothing is beautiful
about this nature.
ice laces the edge
of transparent wings,
there is no reincarnation,
and dragonflies freeze easily.

lingering impressions

2006-01-31T08:20:00.000-08:00

I want to trace
the lines in your palm
to where your life
tangles with mine
and mingle for eternity,

smooth with my thumb
the crease in your brow
shadowed by the years
of shared passing,

touch with my lips
the echoes of laughter
etched on your cheek
and flecked in the sun
of your eyes,

open my hand
inside a lazy stream
and catch the ripple
of a dragonfly stealing a kiss
off the face of forever.

cold feet

2006-01-31T08:06:00.000-08:00

the fire is warm
but my fingertips have yet to find
assurance in heat
and though I entreat my toes
to stretch toward flame,
they settle for the solace
of neither bite nor burn