Leaves outstretched hands
in the wet spring.
Elephant skin dark bark in the rain.
Those wild arms in a dance
that calls your name,
today and every other.
In the wind my voice becomes a whisper.
The hum of a thousand bees
caressing your heart.
I string the universe’s beads
together one by one,
holding the sacred chalice
to my pursed lips.
Its reflection a face
of every other face.
The mirror you hold up for me
to see myself.
(inspired by Denise Levertov)
I look for you each day
in the empty house.
The rooms echo
with your hidden voice.
You are my golden ring
I find you in the stillness,
where I can hear my heart.
It resounds of the fullness
I feel for you.
Each season of our lives,
a stone’s throw of concentric circles
widens to the horizon,
where the tangible boundary
between time and space
You stand in the dark,
the light of the moon on your flesh and hair.
A silhouette in the stillness;
the fullness of night.
In this perfect kiss that spans
you are the smile of a child
the ripple of the river
the dazzle of a sunbeam.
In your embrace I am found.
In your light,
I become whole.
Although you hide in secret rooms,
I have found you.
Like shore to the ocean.
Bare feet walking the sand. Water licking your toes.
What does it mean to feel the wind in your hair, the caress of sunbeams?
Your hair like a lion’s mane, tumbling down your back.
You were young once, but is that it?
An infinitesimal grain of sand spun from the universe’s creative juices.
A picture of the stars.
Your voice echoing in the lost chamber of my ears.
Meeting your eyes. Locking gazes for the first time.
Sips of a nectar sweeter than wine.
Lips on skin. Peach hairs under the tongue.
A fire in the gait. Was it mine or yours?
Is it me I am in love with? Have been all along?
The thrumming of the heart, the fluttering of dove wings
when you call my name.
I searched every island, letting the muse come to me on winged insight.
You sat on the lonely rock before the sunrise.
The last star still visible in the fading night sky.
Her name is Venus, and she definitely is not a star.
Well, what is she, then? A planet, a goddess, an apparition?
Born from a wave, a pearlescent seashell.
She is the goddess of love.
Goddess? What goddess? Who believes in that stuff?
Are you becoming a materialist?
We are talking about love.
Everyone is a beginner here.
Being in love, sparking the fire.
A flame so bright my whole soul burns.
Every single time, in your arms I am a newborn babe, a little girl.
Butterflies fluttering in my belly.
Words tickle the imagination, alighting on fantasy.
What does it mean to be in love?
Following the veins in a golden leaf.
Arteries of energy. Rivers of life and power.
Galaxies of the mind.
Watching birds in flight. Freedom falling.
Fluid moving geometry in the sky. The choreography of a murmuration.
Walking on the shore. Watching the waves lick the sand.
Feeling naked and whole, simultaneously.
Feeling the burn, the desire. To be alive.
To touch and feel. Everything.
Mother is there at the beginning
Mother is who you came out of
Mother is food
Mother is sleep
Mother is love
Mother is the first teacher
Mother is nature
Mother is nurture
Mother Nature is Mother
Mother is who I need to separate from to become me
Mother has a wound
Mother is who’s wound I must heal
Mother is who I trust
Mother is who I roll my eyes to
Mother is almost always woman
Mother is taken for granted
Mother is who rejects me and I reject
Mother is who I feel smothered by
Mother is who I am
Mother and daughter
Daughter to my mother
Mother to my daughter
May I feel all the wounds
May I speak them
May I heal all the wounds
May I heal my mother wound
May we give back to all mothers
May we give back to Mother Nature
May I give back to my mother
May I give a new future to my daughter
Mother is the beginning
The rhythm of breath
The strum of the heart
Of all that is me and isn’t me
Of unity and division
Mother is the beginning of love
Your little hand
warm and wrapped into mine.
We walk down the street.
Up and over the hill,
stopping at flowers,
squirrels, planes in the sky.
Our pace is neither fast nor slow.
At times you trot ahead
with that funny toddler run.
Then you come back.
Searching for me.
Your wrist bones alive,
your little hand in mine.
To the clouds and drifts of grey.
There are tears in those places.
They reach for the moon.
They come like unexpected petals
of a blossom so new.
A finger on my cheek.
My eyes are closed.
The pebbles on the shore
sing a song to the waves.
The salt and the brine
mix in my mind.
I turn to the passing.
The dear ones.
The questions you ask
at three years of age.
Sun rays timid
dance on your forehead.
I long for the touch
that reminds me of a love
from long ago.