i know a bird boy
translucent and blue like
the exhilarated sky
heart fit to burst
beating out rhythms of yes
of yes i know a bird boy
wings in his eyes
flight in his toes
i know a bird boy

celebrate!

beautiful, wonderful
had a joint celebration of our november-born
our dare i say inevitable assortment? it certainly feels that way now
how it has happened that you are tempered into my landscapes

sunday rested our clenched selves
piled into the van to the day that was waiting to happen
the kids ran to the monkey cage
and went to look at the fish and find the ostrich

found ourselves welcomed by the abandoned
picked up off the streets, pieces of them missing,
memory or mind, wherewithal
offered us seats to join them in communion
a priest blessed us with his hands on our heads

we walked among children crying on the mats
god knows for what
forgotten grandfathers,
women left by the wayside were here
god knows for what
i came away with a cross thumbed on my mind's eye
and the vision of a smile breaking the surface of shuttered eyes
i close my own
there are wounds that are difficult to see

gathering these
we took our children to the mountain spring
abundant repast and the lush orchestra
of growing things, crickets and birds
and fruit on the tree

smooth the pressed lines and tightness bubbles out
in laughter we are simply in a line on a log
jumping up and down and riding broomsticks
to sketch across the sky

my heart said beauty beauty

we were invited to a secret garden
loved into paths and alcoves, bubbling streams
and scents of flowers and pungent spice
i was offered fruit from a kakao tree
they taught me that you suck the meat off the seeds and dry them

the priest of this worship painted on walls
and carved the signs
and grew this solace over time

all this while i held children in my arms
and felt their heartbeats under my palms
and wished please please for magic in their lives

all this, all this is given
i could not have asked
god knows for what

may be
sureness or not
may of flowers and wildness permissive
may dangles yes
or

this is the softness of face
warm breath smelling of breathing
the tingle of almost touch
one eye
one eye
the slope of nose beside nose
the delicate distance between
eyes that are closed

soft darkness

and the muted sounds of far
ticking and roar of engines
a horn sounds

taking a walk with my dead
it is a beautiful evening, stars are out and there is something of a festive atmosphere in the air.
the sky is a crisp clear - a nice change from the previous variable sun-gloomy days
the constancy is nice.

flickering candle carpets mark out, here lies, here lies
and among them also the living,
are keeping vigil
a night for our dead

i talk to them one at a time, my patchwork grandmothers
the one who threw shoes at the judge
the one who sang opera
the one who was incarcerated during the war
the one with a new dress a month
the one with three
the one whose husband and child died under the piano
the one who hid jewels in her hair to trade for eggs
the one who slept with a revolver under her pillow
the one who learned chinese brush painting when she found out she was dying
the one whose father sat on her glasses
the one who sang autumn leaves

handed down to me in stories and silences
i am trying to stitch together into
someone who had breakfast everyday or sometimes not, depending
what would you think is funny? and how am i doing?

lately i sometimes understand a little how it happened
that you lined up the laborers and punched them
that you signed all receipts yourself, even the ones for the smallest amounts
that you smoked four packs a day
that you served all your meals hot

sneaks up on me one breakfast i am preparing
one fight i witness
one friend i make

and many more questions, what would you make of it?