Tag: dragonfly book

The sun was high in the sky,
 the grass green.
Though I had had some petty
 rough patches in my life,
 I was still untried.
"Put me in, God."
"Oh, my child, so stubborn,"
 He mercifully furrowed his brow,
 gazing at me lovingly.
"I am your child.
 It is my destiny
 to take upon the suffering
 of the world to save it."
We looked over the infinite
 lake of suffering.
He took a bottomless cup
 and made as if to scoop it
 to its dregs.
With a deft slight of hand,
 He skimmed off a thimbleful;
 with the tip of a needle,
 He pricked the tiniest bead
 and dropped it into a fizzy drink.
In tenderhearted concern,
 He reluctantly gave it to me.
I joyfully drank it up.

 My tongue swole black-purple.
 My innards churned.
 I snowed flakes of flesh -
  my skin began to disintegrate.
 My blood ran and ran and ran
  till I could not think straight.
 The hair on my head turned ashen;
  God counted each one
  as they fell off randomly.
 I knew helplessness.
 I knew hell.

As innocent as a lamb, I bleated,
 "Why have You forsaken me."

Sometimes
the instant cure
takes time

Caught between land and sea
I spend my days on the beach
scooping out the sand-sludge
as the waves splay and flood
glimpsing the chest
yearning to unveil its treasure

After all that therapy,
I can finally stand
 to see myself.
My horns shine,
 regrown
 from when I filed them down.
My tail twitches,
 untucked
 from between my legs.
My hooves tap,
 unshod
 à la Shoeless Joe,
 how apropos.
My bed blazes
 made
 all ready
 for when I lie down in it.

I have spent my whole life developing a theory justifying living untheoretically.

A favorite item can't be replaced.

The cup I was -
I liked to drink out of -
is broken now.

Was it my fault?
Was it my faults? -
the fault lines that make it
 so easy to break?

No!
In defiance...
No!
In love... with, of, for myself
In the fire,
I bleed gold
and heal.
Resplendent! 

My faults
No!
My spangles
My Self

A supersaturated atmosphere
 of raw energy envelops us,
 creating a million potential tributaries.
Any lucky one elucidates its burning
 connection up to heaven,
 rightly, quaintly, evoking God.

Child monk
Full of sin
What does it matter!
blissfully oblivious
God cradles you

A footpath lifts you above the ravine
A gentle breeze kisses your cheek
A tumult gusts in the tree tops
 merely to thrill your
 devilish little heart

It was a hard winter
 though it rarely froze
In a pleasant, desperate search
 I walk the entire park
 for respite

A tuft of purple crocuses
 The sniff of a dog
  Little waterfalls
 The bend of the river
Will it be enough?

Intuition indicates the right path
I hesitate, but take it
Such a long walk — for what?
and to go the whole way —
 it's getting late

I reach the horses’ ring
The naked woods are on fire
The bold sun hovers atop the hill yonder,
its rays a kaleidoscopic crown,
as if waiting for me the whole time

Mercifully temperate summer days
 glide into autumn.
The footfalls of my vintage
 recently-purchased
 Doc Martens sandals
 advance on air.
The pedals of my quaint
 just-restored
 Bianchi Parco
 churn in silence.