seventy five, forty five, 178-180

the winding roads welcome
and the dust leaves crawl across the tar like small creature
spirits
watching your turn

i feel i would hit something
like boxes and solo cups
strewn
as i watch the moon

hover
like a tan chrome
swirled bowl
hand-painted

in this calm
i change the world
and we circle round each other
as we had to from our conception

and august will be a month to keep.

ive always written on this night

the house, my home smelled of sauteing shallots from midday 
and wine, cooking
and ideas inspired
my toes froze in my socks up and down the stairs to fetch ingredients
and it came together somehow as it does
cabbage pockets and wild rice delicata
pie and soup and winter greens spicy


and no drama, no appetizers 
life stories and intentions
and dishes washed as we go


the compost buckets filling all our waste
and the oven gas on high
swinging creaking in and out
in and out as the time creaks


and the smells linger in the kitchen 
and we tour and we circle and we hold hands
and we gratitude


and we fill our plates as high as we think they can bleed
with everything tender and fresh
and cooked by you, by me, from my hands to my your plate


no tins


and we sit on the floor and we speak of books
and intuition
and what we think of the days
and the snow


and we eat pie because we cant not
and we play
and have no problem needing to go to bed
and there isnt much to clean


and there are no hospitals
nor tables
and it is the greatest ever.

wooded lev

i have never felt you like today on my cold numb hands
where your traveling branches meet your trunk
the width of your rounds, your wrinkled bark
how a dying leaf feels cool and crackly ridged in my maze
and how the moss is fluff green with life even in this climbing freeze
of rock and of grass you are so unequally dense, distinguished
and then your tree breaks into a warm, coved gap
a haven, ah!
ridges round you are and roots curved, thinning
the ground parts and i smell the forgotten earth scent again
and then as i gather leaves and place my nose in the furry moss at your base there is a sort of horse radish and cool rain in my nostrils.
a tiny bus yellow fungus, formed like i could never misname
and again, spicy dirt
in this silent exploration are my prayers of awe
the unformed words of this glory and beauty grace.
who do i thank if not i for this embrace, this holding
my eyes are closed and yet i absorb every creation in this moment
every bit of that which i am and that which isnt and this meditative connection with the ground with this misted morning is the return of my soul to this place of experience. i can only take these
moments into the unfolding day of doing as a founded yes
a grounded alignment of one

liberation identity

i am: a child of the earth in this moment and can choose where i want to spend my time because i come from a straight success that was destroyed. i could sleep in multiple stars just for one night or with the man rolling his possessions in a cart through the park. i can choose and i am not sure why.

lev

the trees have been winter grey
and the ground crunches in early morning chore
what is still here, what has not fallen and decomposed
is what carries me as i have chosen or have surrendered
still in my mind, unstill is the you that will, the dream that only faith can unfold
the linger of a once truth that drove me to this moment
and i call screaming like a ewe in labor to a nothing
that answers in perceived symbol and assumption
the to be or not so is growing slowly at my walls
as if there is some thing greener at its other
and i hear to listen, i read, i tell and there is noise too much to decipher the whispers

and lying hidden discarded partially
kept in someone elses space
stuff, stuffing, stuffed

nvc

what has the morning brought
again the day, the oranges
the eyes that beg me for a truth
and a belly hungry for yes
and in this well of potential
it is as nothing else ever existed and this is my day
to be everything i ever wanted to be.

my eyes closed i am on the moon
or in your arms
and the day yawns with our music
here we sit like seedlings, flowers
ready to breathe, to rock to cry
to forget and jolt back into the perfection of the dream
we will always wake up from another dream
and pretend to fly until we can remember how
until we soar please plant with me and remind me
and stretch with me to the sun: she gives, she is only to give

and with this heat, the moving making head
we can perform our miracles. like wizards with gems
and swirl the sparks that lie hidden and vibrating
pluck these strings and we will make the sweetest song

let me hear your voice. it comes from the place that i am
and only from here
from the essence space
can we be in the divine, together, dance

all these thoughts to paper. for what?
one is. the tea tells me. the soup does.
and the earth releases from the cracks in my hands.

sateity

and i found it again like my laugh
knowing when it was present, when it had passed
and knowing from a cushioned box of safety
what and what not

this is my song
the packets rustling cutlery scraping
to horror eyes and running sprinting mind
how can i contain this?

the recall is reddening - cheeks heart fire
it surfaces like bile and devalues my truth
the resistance, the freedom is mezmerizing
will he stay with me always?