The Stillness We Know (with Spoken Word)

If I collect all the stars tonight
Mix them in a bucket like paint,
From their glow will a new color
Emerge as yet unknown?

In time I can name it, after
I toss them back scattered
For the gazers to see
In the relit night.

Newness reflects a myth
Like truth on still water
Whose gentle murmur speaks
A code no cypher requires.

Just a short walk in sand
Under the mixed up sky
That decorates our world
And see what I hear.

A bystander eavesdrops and asks
“How will I see what you hear?”
The brush dipped in the bucket
Whistles in the glimmering remains.

We sit down on the sand together
While the water dances to the song
That trickles out of the truth
Naming the stillness we know.

Angel’s Honey Dust

one feather falls
from the angel’s wing
into my open palm
I dip it in honey dust
and brush her breast
a sweet taste
lips discover
on soft skin

for the first time
a new spirit
rises from
delicious oils
one breath
ignites a womb

We drink this delicate nectar

We hear music of bird and bard

We rejoice the sacred bond

dancing with angels
in deep rhythm
richer than azure
constellations rise
from the mendacity
of earthbound life
to love wholly
this Woman

born from dust
a dream of life
lit by chosen stars
and created
in tender union

A companion to Angel’s Metamorphosis:

image: Michael Parkes

Stars, Memories, and Stories

Asked to describe the night sky
He recognized his deficiency
Not knowing summer’s stars
As he knew winter’s,
As if as a child,
Busy playing,
He failed to look up
At gifts awaiting him:
Myths and legends,
History of the universe
Slowly told by fading giants
Sending their stories
Through vast space
To his imagination awaiting them
On this verdant planet alone
Needing to tell tales
Nowhere else told.

Now they are clues for him
To be alone in the telling,
Truly alone,
An alone he once feared,
An alone he now embraces
Like that child embraced play
So inside the moment it forgot
To be remembered
And was better for the forgetting.

Venus shines brightest,
As always,
Gently reminding him of the sun
Now lighting the play of children
Forgetting to save memories
In other hemispheres
As only children know.

The city is close enough
Its vast and arrogant lights
Hide the full story,
Though hints remain:
Like treasure hunts,
A glitter here,
A twinkle there.

He thought of Odysseus
Navigating the turbulent rage of Poseidon
By their lights
To return home to Penelope
Faithful weaver and unweaver of cloth
She’d only finish when his ship’s mast
Pointed to the sky that awaited them
Two old souls
At the end of their journey
Meant to sit together
Counting stars to measure love
Limitless, like the journey of a life
Lived inside the safety of hearts
That only know a story children can tell
Playing together
Memories forgotten
And better off for it.

Some nights fireflies
Are more than enough
Like tonight
Walking alone
His way finally lit.

Image: John William Waterhouse – Ulysses and the Sirens (1891)

Father, Son, Stars, Loss (for Bobby)

I start to count them and stop
Not because there are too many
But because I cannot hold them
Accountable; the code sparkled
From their eternal glow calls
Me to be accountable to my life:
Precious. Let us look, son,
Out the window in quiet
Prayer for the loss, inexplicable,
That weighs down our hearts
Until sleep pardons us this day.
Tomorrow we can wake and run.