the passing of pax romana

she sits in her space and feels a stirring,

much like the wind, much like a calling

to another place not yet

known, not yet her own:

her fingers buzz with forbidden

magic; her mind moves mountains.

the invisible warrings

of love write themselves

quietly on the back-side

of her heart-quilt, sewn in

tight like jewels, like journals

coming alive on the inside linings

of her organs, playing out

their orange chicanery.

just outside the monastery

of her own making, she

gazes at her mother repeatedly

riding in on the tide, her spirit

slipping into her shell sides;

she holds the best close

to her core and lets

the rest follow back

with the moon.

tiny & full

on my way to flying school,

late as usual,

taking the lady liberty boat

since i just missed my bus.

 

i was up all night,

dreaming of teeth

falling out and digging in

to chase me;

 

of cruising over

bridges and swimming

under cities

(naked, of course);

 

of moving through non-time –

a star for a pocket-watch,

a string of white moons ’round

my wrist: tiny & full.

open

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you’re still very small: you

don’t take up much room,

 

here in this swollen

swoon of little sips and

 

tiny turn-key tips

like bread-crumbs

 

to follow down

this crooked path.

 

you create your own

paucity of time, which

 

is always

just enough,

 

just tucked into your

breast-pocket as you

 

dig through hidden

portholes, running

 

straight-laced lines

directly to the muse;

 

swiftly turning the hurried

world upon its haptic head.

 

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happy belated birthday, baby blog <3

one year old

I’m going to keep this one short and sweet.

 

Yesterday was one year since I began blogging here in this little corner of the world. It has been quite an adventure, and I have crossed paths with some wonderful people.

 

Mostly I have continued to learn and grow and make mistakes and feel joy and pain and hear my own voice and put myself out there and pick myself back up after falling. Yep, sounds like a full first year.

 

This card from my mother seems to sum it all up well, this thing we call life:

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Happy belated birthday, baby blog. <3 Thanks to all who stop by, read, comment, and toddle along with me.

 

 

in this room for the living

in this room for the living,

this calico chirping

 

in the window, thinking

she is a red, red robin;

 

this lantern singing,

this green brush growing

 

her lush periwinkle comb,

grooming me into the next

 

branching under which i am

disarmed by the charms

 

of soft pine stories, gently

pressing their charges

 

against me as i walk,

walk, walk into dissolve.

 

new territory

from this

window well

gridded cell

 

i suddenly see the silver-fish-peacock

streaming and sparking in the peripheral;

 

our giant glass eye with kaleidoscope lashes

meets in the middle

 

–blue-green-red-white waves and flashes–

 

behind which the great

wheel cogitates:

 

the quiet cut of

terror.

 

it would have been beautiful,

this alien trope of light,

 

had it not been lodged deep

inside my eye,

my brain –

 

stealing my vision, my clarity,

my ability to see, read, be, sustain.

 

after it passed, and the brief relief set in,

the cat and i exchanged knowing looks across

the old-new scent-filled floorings:

 

this was new territory.

 

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stretch the spirit-head high

i wake each morning

to a sun-filled kitchen,

familiar cup of coffee;

 

i feel new.

 

but by night-fall i am

in mourning for

the old.

 

i know, this too shall pass;

which is its own

 

kind of sadness.

 

i slowly ease in and dig my

shell into this fresh sand:

 

letting the tiny grains

patiently move me along –

 

millions of time-wise

crystalline hands.

 

i keep one eye on the tide,

stretch the spirit-head high

 

to the deep-wide horizon.

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