She left roses by his door every morning
yellow for her heart, red for her head
which he held, master of her mind, ring
of gold her wedding band, five years wed,
and the petals smelled like wet memories
of dewy summer nights and starry sojourns
in his arms she, holy, in his eyes free,
and in her flowers a truth – thirst, yearn
for communion of souls, two halves whole
and bliss all their days, joy bright coal.
There’s toadstools on the trees, climbing
high to the canopy, boles like eyes, sap
that weeps from old wounds like maple syrup,
the whole forest is in decay, in its heart
with the scientist who raised apples and
oak from seedling, he climbs frail limbs on
a ladder to green leaves and plucks ripe
memories of when he was young, the Earth
is reclaiming his sacred grove, drill cores
of rings count endless summer days, my mind
thermals up to the pennant bower of flags
shaped like stars and lady’s breath, for
leaves sip down sunlight and the forester
would like to rest on his way to the grave,
tell stories to his children trees, sleep.
You are the spiderweb lace I wrap around my soul
your love sticks to every crevasse of my wounds
and the venom in small doses heals, not kills,
for truly to kiss you is to be poisoned, I long
for summer days and spring nights, and anywhere
you turn, there I follow, for butterflies in
arachnid’s enchantment care little what light
burns them, and the black widow’s hourglass
is red with the time we spent languorous, wet
with dew and wild, as you devour my heart I
am tracing out an elegy of your spinnerets
song, your eightfold eyes that dissect me in
all the most perfect ways, so consume this
monarch wing that burns just for you, but
beware – the orange is burnished infection,
and just as you drive me wild, so I will
imprint my last breath on your wind, so,
We gnash pearly teeth and howl out our ancestors
the moon is our mistress, the stars our mothers.
Can you run with the wolves, with grit and gore?
Can you lead ravens to feasts and hunt berserker?
Hold the beast in your heart with a raging battle,
tame your temper and passion and trek far and wide.
Come race across glaciers and wild woods eternal.
Come eat elk and foxen and fill bellies with water.
We are the first tribe, we are the last generation.
Run with the wolves and become one with the kin.
Come quickly, love, come staunch my wound with heather.
I am bleeding out my song onto curling mountain laurels.
Lift me to the bane bridge, love, carry me through roses.
I have not visited the valleys of my youth for many moons.
Kiss me, love, my soul is a meadowlark, swiftly fleeting
and I cannot stay, I could never be yours, I must fly away.
The violet buds of contemplation
are wet with diamond sea dew drops
a Maine breeze combs curling leaves
a seagull sings out a darling shanty
and the lupine thrums along, purple
with perfection, smelling of Atlantic
flowers and cliffs as tall as towers,
from her perch, the summer queen reigns
over rocky shores and windborn wanderers
regent of beast buds, the lupine plies
in the gale, roots run wild with wolves.
The ocean is endless, I want to lick foam
off the top of waves and bury sand dunes
into saw grass to make my hair wet green
stalks, swim to outer boundaries to oyster
marvel pearls and neck with seals and fish,
to wrestle Triton and bring back fresh water
for mankind too quick to pollute the wildlands –
can’t they see the deep is our original womb?