Sunday Inspirations

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

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

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

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

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

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

the sun was licking
honey from your hair
and in the deep pool
your stirring fingers
spun a glittering globe

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

settling,

and I was pocketing
white stones
something to
remember
when all around
you sand glittered.

I wonder if on moon
bathed nights, you’ search
for what was dropped
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.

******original******

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

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

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

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

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*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.