ricochet

ricochet


the day penciled itself in
then rubbed itself out.

sure, things got done,
chores ticked off

another small repair
another 30 seconds of something.


the sand dunes are all planted
                                               waiting for a wind,

exclamation points at the ready.



-- jul '16

speaking of ghosts

taking advantage of some small spaces of time
here's a recycled bottle: fill it



west

it's a warm rain falling right now
and the woods have gone very green
a shade that only comes with a late shower.

i'm driving just to get there:
grey stripe threading green distractions.
then the precious black of night
drops into my pocket like a baby jar full of bells, or

ink stains on somebody else's couch maybe
and the cd changes over and then there's more music
and there's more rain
and everybody's stopped on the side of the road
in the same space of night and nothing moves

except the wind and the water

speaking a language neither of us will understand.

can't stop listening
                              can't panic
                                               keep driving


-- jul '16

greetings from paradise falls

So it takes a native plant conference to get me off my digits and back to work.
I wrote this whilst up on a waterfall, in anticipation of a gathering of like-minded folks up at WCU, Cullowhee, NC.

hope you like it:

i'm a believer

i believe in the hemlock when it droops down to offer me some green advice
and the sun, of course and always, and carbohydrates and the leaves stretching
the conference here of souls and our congress of humans

my humans - all of you wonderful funky chlorophyll junkies

and i believe there's still something to be said even when the twig has ceased forcing its bud
even after my fingers stop speaking there is still meaning in the bark
and in the furrows around your lips as you laugh

i believe in the community we have assembled here
as much a part of nature as the creek around our knees
the soil under our fingernails
the waning light in our cups

i believe in the forgiveness of spicy barbecue and really cold beer
that's right
and the 10,000 ways to say thank you
and the chaste love shared right now between two smiles

i believe in the dance we share with the pines in the wind
and the earthworms and the dirt
and yes, sisters and brothers, i believe in this tent of night where we camp under moonshine and stars

i believe that sweat is both necessary and good

i'm a believer

i've come even to believe there can be healing poured from a mason jar in the back of a pickup
or from a well-filled pair of ratty jeans crossing my cursed vision at just the right time
yeah, i'll even believe in you, most especially in you,
if you turn around right now and offer me a cigarette

i believe in the cleansing wash of dew at 6 a.m. on bare night-stained feet
and the reminder each blister leaves when it pops

like Saturday's headache dully mirroring Friday's adventure



--jul 2016