*
*
Who is he dancing for, this grackle
perched in the crepe myrtle?
He preens neck feathers,
calls out a few measures
of grackle love song
flutters his wings, takes
a bow, and starts again
*
There is no other bird in sight,
no grackle girl, no male rival,
no robin, crow or sparrow
Perhaps it’s a grackle rehearsal
Perhaps it’s grackle OCD
Perhaps it’s an expression of joy:
I am God’s perfect grackle, and I dance.
*
*
A youngish man, the music therapist
passes out maracas
to folks in wheelchairs, side by side,
many doze, a few eyes are open
*
He glides through the oldies,
Patsy Cline Crazy, Everly Brothers Dream,
These boots are made for walkin’
under the boardwalk
*
David, who rarely sits,
shuffles across the room,
smelling of shit—again—
Someone alerts the staff
*
Leaving on a jet plane
no one here will fly anywhere
Talking ‘bout my girl
No one here talks much
*
The music therapist always ends
with Amazing Grace, this being
a Catholic facility, those
who are here were once found,
but now are lost
*
*
yellowing willow limbs waken
in the slanting February sun
first of the trees to rouse
with roots still buried in snow
*
while cardinals and juncos
forage for winter’s remnants
under scraggly pines as
jays shriek from higher branches
*
squirrels skitter across ice crust
recovering buried acorns or
padding their dreys with a
mouthful of dry leaves
*
the bitter cold retreats
all those living breathe relief
relax muscles in the feeble light
anticipate the surge of spring
*
*
after Fire by Joy Harjo
To know the voices of mountains
is to be planted deep in earth
rooted in the heart of the planet
where the sacred fire song begins
*
To know the voices of oceans
is to dissolve in swirling waters
inseparable from waves and tides
singing the song of the sea
*
To know the voice of the sky
is to shed all boundaries
relinquishing shape and form
an eternal member of the celestial chorus
*
*
Once my skin was smooth and firm, brown like an acorn.
Once my heart in love turned like a Ferris wheel.
Once I had feet that moved faster than thought.
Once a man said, Dancing with you is like driving a Porsche.
Once there was more time than the ocean.
Once dreams were only waiting for tomorrow.
Once there were no indigo regrets at twilight.
Once the face in the mirror matched the face in my mind.
*
*
Full teacup
Wet teaspoon
One blue plate
One thin moon
*
Full teacup
One long night
Two bare feet
One bare light
*
Full teacup
Weathered floor
Three green chairs
One shut door
*
Full teacup
Empty room
One white pill
One thin moon
*
*
The Saint marks time
in circles and reverses.
For us, she knows, worse is
the illusion of a single line.
*
We hear her dictum: all is one.
We meditate in reverent quiet,
eliminate meat from our diet.
And pray for the ego to be undone.
*
Like birds, we flutter at her feet,
pecking at seeds of wisdom and advice,
our vision of freedom growing faint.
*
Like birds, we forget and repeat
our hungry pleas. She complies
with the patience of a Saint.
*
*
Always and never changing
Beach shapes itself under
Curling waves.
Dunes rearranging for
Each sunrise offer a benediction.
Feathers tumble along the tideline.
Gusting wind sprays rainbows.
Halos circle each step, soft sand sifting
In between toes.
Jellyfish collapsed in a glassine heap,
Killdeer skitter, gulls sleep.
Leaping dolphins breach and blow offshore.
Moon-ruled tides,
Neap, high, and ebb cradle
Oceanides, nymphs of the sea, while
Psamathe, goddess of sand beaches, strews shells of
Quahog, ark, scallop, whelk.
Rolling in from foreign shores
Sucking and spitting, the sea
Tastes the sand,
Undulates
Vast as thought.
Wandering jet streams map the sky, making
X’s of cirrus.
Yearning for union, the sea mirrors the
Zodiac above.
*
*
At the end of my street
is a small stretch of woods,
bare now, layered in snow and sleet.
I crunch the crust of icy ground,
startled by a sudden whoosh of sound.
*
A wild turkey explodes high
between the trees with frantic wings
escaping my presence to safer ground
where the flock scratches, stalks and pecks.
*
Winter sun pale and thin
outlines every trunk and limb.
The turkeys move on, unconcerned.
I stand transfixed in the winter wind.
*
*
At God’s behest
I gave up being a star
to come to this sorry planet
and be a beacon of love
among the billions
who’ve lost their way.
*
But then I forgot my mission
believing I was a fleshly body
believing I had agency apart from Source.
I pursued comfort and riches.
I was unhappy and afraid.
*
Now I am old
and in this wrinkled skin
relearning what I forgot, that
the Truth of my being is holy.
I am light. My purpose is to love,
to shine.
Tangled Magic 