Riding the river of goodbye
nights alone
taking songs to bed
instead of you
Heart resigned
to half the life we had
until we dance again
arms yes arms
wrapped soft and tight
I see you there downriver
waiting for my dreams
to float the river shoals
Less of forever to go
around each bend
And we will hear
our voices say hello
and dance outside
the time of sleep
Tag Archives: waiting
Mountain top
Stars begin to drop
into the growing dark
of a clear night sky
as I come down the
mountain to our woods
the path familiar
my feet sure in waning light
I went up alone craving you
the burn cleared granite
comfort warm at sunset
words escaping
into the rising drafts
as song
wait for me
I will be there given time
Haiku for a short Sunday
days of long shadows
trees standing guard in deep snow
light waits for solstice
Seeing them off
Today they are still here,
and I am too, in late September.
My hummingbird pair. One darts in
to feed, the other perches
drinking deeply, tipping her head back
to let the nectar slide.
I feel that energy sweet and cool
down my throat.
Their absence looms, a large bell
with muffled clappers tolling
unopposed, reddening the trees,
exiling light, ushering in cold.
Lately the question, will they
visit me again, or will there be
someone else looking out my window
twelve months on?
Each year it is harder let them go,
as if there were a choice.
countdown
there is movement
in the daily flow of green
to full on spring
as bud fists loosen grips
or fern nubs thrust up clumpy heads
and hillsides morph to verdigris
reminding me of childhood nights
spent time-stretched
jumping tick to tock
wrapped in wild impatient
longing for the morning
and its gifts to come
in truth the journey
through that wait
or days lived blossomless
are weighted to the same degree
because this moment’s beauty is
the only certainty we have
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a shortling for 5/5. spring has been excruciatingly slow this year for us. yet even as we creep along, just knowing the apple tree will blossom, or the lilacs bloom, is such a gift.
haiku for visitors
tiny coterie
summer toads wait in ambush
cycle is renewed
_________________________
Day 23. Very small rubber eraser translucent toads appear on the glass of my kitchen door each summer beginning their night hunting.
bursting forth, perhaps
almost, not quite there
waiting, for more warmth
to take the leap, and
open buds, flowers, hearts
return us to a world of green again.
a signal from another plane
says it is time, it is safe now,
release your energy, open
the lock gates to another
flow of life
Life With Horace 