with all its skin removed
and moonstone lotus arms pulled back
the onion has no center
only tear provoking sharpness
seeping from its pores
but you and I have hearts
that feed our souls and break sometimes
laid bare in throes of love
or simply listening to the echoes
of a whispered thought
a memory of longing sweeping back
to fan regret at loss
we wear our years like onion skin
the proof of who we were opaque
of how we danced or soared
looked at the world from eyes that saw
time infinite us invincible
too quick to jump into the flow
of forces greater than our will
to hold them back
where war or danger
grabbed us by the throat and shook
tossing what was left aside
or living tamer slower lives
bumps and buffets taken as they came
no matter what our start
we all arrive at later’s trailhead
wondering where our eagerness and joy have fled
energies no longer at our ready beck
resignation sometimes held at bay
and yet our beating core
holds all of it on layaway
to draw on if we can
so when I lie with moonlight
shadows raked across my skin
and you reach out with forge hot hands
time falls away leaving elemental us
certain only of this moment
and its gift
Monthly Archives: October 2015
haiku for a cold Monday
edges after frost
silver rims the still green leaf
tree crowns lit by sun
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we have had our first truly cold nights. things are dying back. the sun comes up later over the mountain arm, and light proceeds down from the tree tops. today I start feeding the birds again.
scattershot season
like random bursts of color
or drought licked leaves
my transformation waltzes slowly
through the thickets of impatience
skirting good intentions
wanting every item on my
inner laundry list of psychic tweaks
checked off in double time
to quit the job of Tantalus’ understudy
reaching for the ease I see in others
never tongue tied in the light
of those whose minds and gifts
can freeze me in my tracks
as adolescent echoes chase me down
my blurted words so many zombie zits,
I crave deliverance from this dread
to stamp distortion into weightlessness
and see it float away, swept on by
migrant wings that set me flying too
the empty hour
driving south with dogs and moon
my sole companions
through a world now shuttered, faceless
not quite dead, a piece of time
between the dregs of night wound down
and any thought of lighted day
no nameless lurkers crowding thoughts
as unaccustomed full face brightness
pushes back those waves of menace
rushing from the black hole dark
until their clinging dread recedes
then trickles off the shouldered road and trees
fades dark blank glass and shadowed cars
to question marks, a thousand lives imagined
in the moments we pass by
my honor guard lies nose to tail
the comfort of their smell and noisy dreams
has wrapped my shoulders well against the chill
and we move on
_____________________________
we all know this time of night, and driving through it in the light of a full moon changes everything.
conversation with a horse
it starts again where it left off
no steady stream of cogent thought
but snips of words implied
and whuffing breath upon my hair
a toss of eyes, soft nosing in my hand
fingered lips come for their gift
and stay to glean the remnant juice
I stand between them
under arching heads and necks
unafraid and shivering with joy
our steps retrace
an imprint starmap dance
away from stepping heavy hoof
and back, to look up
into eyes that hold infinity
_________________________
for Pamela Moshimer Rickenbach, Mithra and Brian, and the horses of Blue Star Equitation.
Life With Horace 