I have been only projecting feelings upon the wall of my life. It is a strange movie. I cut myself loose, turn myself wild. These raw feelings, man need not witness. These raw feelings, I need them for a real life, to tread them. To tread the path; to be in the sunlight.
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Call of the Wild
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The gentle, arched wob-wob, she advances step-step up the lake. There is no one here except the mini-Lochnesses momentarily periscoping up, facing the wind as it whips up waves. Oh, another follows step for step in step. I realize this is Spring. Briefly, I wonder if the tension is only my speculating: she will yield without a fight or they are already friends as well as lovers. It is Spring and each walk step-step up this long lake and it would take all day; no, never finish, they way they walk step-step. He leans into flight, glides purposefully down the lake, over the hill, and is gone. Perhaps she didn’t notice; perhaps she felt a mere ripple of a flap amid the wind; perhaps she was only looking one step ahead as she continues step-step. She eventually settles in and he returns, wings splayed, cruising to the other end like he has some business to attend to.
Blue Herons
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That sweet, hot spirit wound up in beauty. Oh, delicate possession, to tenderly touch, to stroke, to let loose those pent-up sighs. You demand I separate the spiritual from the physical: that is my desire.
Sonata
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My fire, my little fire, I tend, tend, tend to you. You are not ablazin’ o’er the earth, but you are enough to crackle with heat, to sustain a heart, to provide a hearth, to roast marshmallows over, to lick the ribs of embers with quiet flame, to entrance me into a reverie of my inner mysteries.
Camp
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Not that everything is good, but there is good in everything. Patience and such faith cherry–pick the tartest sweetness. That’s why Aunt Sally’s pies go right to the heart.
Cultivate
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Though we shuck it, let us bless the whole wheat: it yielding the kernel and from thence the whole wheat.
Wheat Germ
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I kneel upon your lips, hold my hand to my face, kiss my fingers, and press my little hand–kiss upon the stub tip of your upper lip.
Felt Gratitude
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I light my candle because it exists. Damn candle, brightness piercing through my tears.
Incendiary
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From star to star, from molten blob to smoldering ice, so many journeys from hot to cold to get things just right. Ah, so many fields of foliage — waves of miracle — each unfolding in their time to the sun, wave overlapping waves. When I wonder at my shoots, or fuss at how graceful my leaves, or worry how straight my tendrils, I gaze around and reflect wherein I am a part of; I am beautiful because I am a part of you.
Unfoldment
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Oh, why slug
through these miserable lessons
when I could tip–tap with joy? —
or, perhaps
that’s the lesson.On Missteps
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