Between Times

She writes to me: We only go back as far as our hearts allow*

And a dream of celtic knots tied between two draws me back to a memory of walking through Stones of Destiny, my bare feet sinking into the cool grass of Hill of Tara. 

I return to the scene of the climb**

the assemblage of all my deamons dancing 

like dandelion seeds adrift in dust devils 

The way his voice scooped them away, caught them one-by-one and exchanged them for the pieces of my soul held in Duma na nGiall. 

I sit on the mound, 

listen to Nantes promise to gamble fright away 

watch a field of rapeseed bloom yellow just across the hedge

and I feel the hand of wind brush away the years… 

The vision fades with the stars into a flannel grey sky

and I rise early

watching the things that only come out at night go back to bed***

Laurel 

June 13, 2024

Nods to *Dorothy M, **Brion B, and ***Scott G

 

Manistique in March

We walk along the beach against a steady wind that whips my hair in coils around my face, twisting against the restraints of my hood until they fly free in the breeze. 

A steady roil pushes the heavy glass of frozen waves until they smash and break, piling in fractured heaps along the beach.

Fragments of ice fringe the shoreline, a chaos of crystals refracting the rays of light brave enough to escape the caliginous gray.

Holding gloved hands, we gaze across the waves to a crimson lighthouse, a monolith standing solid on the breakwater. 

And I feel the lake. Her nature heaving, gyrating, releasing, and reeling back everything she is and leaving all her heaviness in the sand.  

March 23, 2023

Laurel 

Cacoethes

I am craving

he breathes in my ear… 

and suddenly I’m lost

and there are no trails

through the tangles

each inhalation an ache

an indulgent shudder

and every exhalation 

a reckless invocation

his whispers

twist around me

wisteria words twining 

gauntlets and corselette

of fragrant vine

I turn to taste them

inhale the sun-soaked scent

and sample their exquisite 

honeysuckle nectar...

I am craving

Corners

There are still days I find my way 

to the corner of my ache, 

curl around your memory, 

and fill an old grief with fresh tears. 

Days when nostalgia is an echo 

calling from red canyon cliffs 

and dreams fold familiar 

fingers around mine 

as I search for a handhold. 

A ghostly apparition of virga

is a caliginous curtain 

in the gathering storm

and when thunder shudders 

through my pane, the flicker

in my pulse reminds me

I still search for you 

between bolts. 

Laurel 

Dec. 23, 2023

Hangover

last night's vodka 

fogs my tongue 

as the words he pierced 

into my heart

form a storm front, 

press against temple walls 

until they tear through ducts.

the aspens in my dream 

have shivered all their gold 

away, and my eyes open 

to high desert and dusty 

sagebrush littered with 

ticks and dust devils.

Reverie

Rising day wraps aspen in mist

drifting off the hot spring 

pooled in a circle of rocks.

Pine and sage perfume the dawning; 

follow where I have journeyed 

to the water's edge 

disturbing a pair of carrion.

Earth is forgiving beneath bare feet

here in the fold of grounded fog,

so I sit, hands cupped in my lap

like an empty boat between my thighs

and contemplate crows. 

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