A Rosary of Sorts

I reach out, hold close
the blue jug of sky,
the drop of blooming star
dangling on meager string.

I pull them in, even
think of a face still young
in centuries of repose,
lost in a soft veil of hair.

She sleeps, not knowing,
in her dry, faint smile-
her hands- they are
the source of a million streams.

In the sweet seas of her eyes,
we float in her arms,
all of us as one-
birth before birth,
a womb of light for souls.

World One

A desert

a storm of stars

rides a wind in one hand,

a sanctuary for a broken fire

thrown only in the other-

for days yet unused.

A sky rises from the tide

clutching the seas,

one in each hand,

two eyes, sparkling stones

heavy as the ground. 

An empty heart, sunken

from the fleeing sky-

it waits, splinters

into clouds of quiet green

to flood the golden sand-

the fading shores of war. 

This is the golden eye,

fallen

when heaven became hell;

it knew every star,

every root of ice,

every heart of fire. 

If Only She Were Here

When you wear that last ring,
a sunset wraps into your hand,
into your bones,
a wobbly vase tottering along
in shadow puppet shoes,
still trying to meet her again,
and so you must remember her.

Take care, you say-
She has missing parts
where her scattered ashes flew-
a dream-catcher's breeze took it
on a breath of shattered glass.

You know she walked away
You hid her, take her out
from the hollows of your heart;
the last shadows sway on the wall,
a pendulum sweeps the hall
so she can come in.

Ode to Earth (II)

The grace of her lord dwells here,
in all that she shares-
she, the most faithful,
with eyes for no one else.

In this life she sleeps,
Dreaming of past rivers, broken
in the sea of empty seas,
With him, burning so bright,
the shepherd of a million souls.

Humble sentries keep her still
Wrap her in cruel, old shadows-
the stories, in the night
to hide her gentle soul, so still,
from the cold realm he keeps.

Yet, she trembles, murmurs
her hopes to a senseless sky-
To be free, at last,
to see the one she adores most!

One day, someday,
His glorious light will rise,
His last coming, rapturous goodbye,
To spirit her away.

Like her lost sisters, angels
waiting in their rafters,
She'll scatter flesh and bone
to the heavens once more.

Ode to Earth (I)

New roots crackle in soft ground,
the battle above, long finished;
pieces of wind stray, torn
on the shadows of pennants green.

Forever is the siege below,
the soft ground, the fairest
in any starry eyed soul,
a place so uncomely
in all but its secret eyes,
an endless heart, it stole
from the lord of light.

Forever her heart opens,
her soft gaze lost at sea,
where no broken spirits,
no ghosts can dwell.

Forever the wanderers seek
with hunger of new life,
with twisting trails of winding years,
to open arms so blind
(and the sky leads them away).

Summer Belongs Here

The earth falls in me;

heavy pieces of rain-

spring, sneaking in

on silver tap shoes

through young skirts of mist.

A sea of cottons drowns

all but the shadow sky- and me-

who lies

with eyes to fly away,

on lashes the wings of moths,

a sweet, paper pair

rapping at my button cottage door.

A hollow of butterflies,

filled with the pulse of the sun-

it ripples in my ear, tell me to go

where they have been

on wings of gold lace, silver strings

faster than any sea.

A whole world of leaves-

through the dry window

on the wings of a lost fly-

a story made for empty air.

The heart of the earth is a broken star,

bare as the rare, unarmed evergreen

hiding behind yellow feather hands-

yet it coaxes a lullaby

into a body as open as the wind.

Look Up

The celestial ballroom opens its doors,

so cold beyond the dream;

The age of masquerade is seized,

possessed by wild phantoms unbound.

Alabaster hands become

rivers slow, unmasked eyes

blinded, groping

for a balcony in empty sky,

ribbon-tied feet not up, down but

head over heels.

At last, proud gems burst-

a rosy spiderweb filigree

hot as any hell;

Just another day, apparently,

of the empty rage- still cold-

yet unquenched.