From Where i Sit

6 macbooks open:

people connecting

connected

sharing

global world growing, spinning fast

fast as the connection allows

12 brown glass bottles:

root beer soldiers

frosty

waiting to be warmed by a hand

 and silent

16 chess pieces:

the white and the black

one old Middle Eastern man

one old life-worn homeless man

no discourse on life, please

just 
 the checking of mates

2 women chatting:

the readhead and the one who isn't sure

playing catch-up

a hand placed on an arm

remembered
quiet laughter 
innate

1 camera sitting:

it could capture it all

but it would never see

the relation between them

stranger-family

community

check

am i getting closer

check

1 dog sitting:

obediently on a chair

observing

basking

listening

guarding

2 dishes shattered:

a cup and saucer previously whole

shattered

it's ok

we don't cry over spilt milk here

check~mate my friend
check~mate

Pratique Avec Les éléments

Were all the Trees to begin uprooting

and walking toward me

with strides both even and measured

I could be no more aware

of the movement of

the Earth

beneath me

Should the Clouds hovering over my head

bend low

arching their backs to 

twine one of my curls around their fingers

or to rest a heavy hand upon my head

I could be no more aware

of the weight of 

the Sky

above me

If the Wind should kiss my cheeks

and caress my face 

with the soft and sure hands of a lover

I could be no more aware 

of the transience of 

the Wind 

around me

Asana

grounded

present

alive

and aware

awake

here

solid

and sure

even

strong

listening

and receiving

returning

open

vibrant

and alive

throbbing

pulsing

shimmering

and still

absorbing

radiating

undulating

and light

A.M.

bringing breath into the bowl of my belly
violent pink and gold over the horizon

wind moving through trees
exhale of intention

inhaling the new air of a new day
mistakes, regret and self-abuse from yesterday
are fortunately already the past

the present is stealing over the line of the ridge
shimmering and warm

i will grasp it
and bring it, too, into the bowl of my belly

it will radiate out from me
on the thousands of exhales through today

i will pass it along

shoulders roll down like water
soft and sure

forehead to floor in gratitude
palms to heart center

yes, remember your center
it is steady
a metronome

my metronome counts out the song of the day
i will sing it with mouth wide open
and smile from my center

For Rebecca

i will fill my belly

with the fortification

of the women who have gone before me

i will drink deeply the nourishment to sustain

through the travail i am privileged

to partake of

i will feel the warmth

of this strengthening broth

spreading down through the sinews

of my legs

and out to the tips of my toenails

i will feel it spreading upward

a pink and golden light

encircling my ribs

pumping through my heart

i will exhale it on my breath

it will surge upward to my head

roaring through my ears

like the pounding of a heartbeat

or the rush of blood
every hair follicle will be alive
with electrical importance

it will encode itself in my brain

reawakening the memories

of my sisters who have gone before me

bones and marrow and muscle will liquefy

in the intensity of the heat

they will be added to the broth

my sweat and tears will salt it

my voice will join the chorus

of female voices ringing down the mountain

~

a maid will lie down with Death

and rise up with the crown of creation

on her brow

Sorrow will be her companion

for only a short season

God will see her

a woman will give birth to a mother

~

Jacob's Brother and the King

i am hearing you, sir
but your words rush past my ears
like the breeze

they flow over my head
like the icy creek waters
rushing over smooth stones

the theories upon which
you expound
disorient me and,

i find myself squinting
as though suddenly blinded by the sun
(that i only just recognized
by quickly turning)

i wonder at the principles
behind your newly formed theories
i study the set of your jaw

your words escape me

but that is truly, alright, by me

Autorisation D'écriture

they cant all be

good words

some must be

jagged and irregular

some must sting

and burn

others will be heavy

but will secretly dream of weightlessness 

there must be words

that die at birth

gasping for air

giving up the ghost

to words more eloquent

and there will be those 

cliches

the ones that huddle together

for warmth and comfort

they smile

but it falters

they are frayed about the edges

some of them

fit like old jeans

broken-in and

pleasantly destructed

but wholly unsuitable

for appearances in respectable society

so no, darling, they cant 
all 

be good

pearly
words