precious hour

 

the extra hour..always a little nugget of surprise
that i can turn over again and dream another dream;
that extra hour, so full amongst the weak trickle of morning minutes.
An opportunity born full-,
like Aphrodite in the surf, a thing of infinite potential
and boundless worth;  I wrestle
with the burden of choice--
like the prophet on the desert floor--
a struggle in the tent for supremacy
will it be fantasy or logomachy?

Conversations from my adventurous youth
rise like happy ghosts, and the notion of freedom,
so sudden, it is the epiphany that comes
like a bolt of white in the stillness of night.
i await the thunder or the echoes of a canyon,
or the loon song bounced off the pines.

An hour... to devour the complexities of time
to understand that light can crawl and darkness escape vision
with an inspired alacrity; there is an utter synchronicity 
to the 'making and unmaking of me.
i live, i die ; i inhale, and  i reason.
i speak endlessly from heart to spirit,
to the heart of the heart where i dwell
in a splendid solitude.
There, awaiting the door to open when once again
i pass myself going to and from life...

ohhh, this hour, precious hour...as my eyes clear
and the clock speaks of... afternoon

Photo…

Sometimes I see you

In a hush, a silence as when

I take a breath and wish away

Every part of the day, let my eyes

Search for a path between

Discard the room, and sense

You as the moon and softness

Soaked in the glow of a hidden sun

I can be a little lost

Feel a little broken and be

Found in a question created by

An invitation in your eyes, framed

by unspoken words, overwhelmed

by the need to hold a moment,

to answer…a wish

Hidden in November

The air makes a soft bosom, a welcome changing,
And breath comes easier in cool sips.
The colors of land and growing things
Reflect the past days of summer heat.

Rays of bright golden daytime star
Folded beneath a patina of bold green, now
Unwrapped like the gift of the season.
To the eyes it brings nostalgic memories
Of how we were when we knew so much less about today
And so much more about tomorrow.

In Tulsa

It was a clear day

quiet on the highway, middle America

and they way it can see

on a clear quiet day, a moment

became a flame..and the darkness of the mystery

surrounds someone beloved, bright now

in a cloak of faith

So beloved that when he fell the hearts

of a sullen people fell, further still

we again witness the evil

the will of fear and tainted vision

that even on a clear, quiet day

cannot abide peace; and the highway

grows cold on a summer day.

Fear rises like heat of day, words they say

to cloud the air, words that reflect the limits of care

to those we see in a particular way

Love finds the clear highway,

such thirsty ground; and eyes verge,

lips tremble, breath is hard.

A memory and a smile

becomes another way to say

we loved this man, now...that he is gone,

we love this man.

Late Summer...

The time is upon us when

neither nature nor we can turn face from summer

not completely, not without the lingering wish

for warmth, and bright touch of  sun...

nostalgia takes on a present tense in every

waterside photo, and thoughts of lapping waves

that caress a part of recent memory mark

tender day's fall into cooling nights.

The first shudder and curl of covers

tells us that evenings foretell

how steep the descent to the coldest

when the earth tilts her chin and

the moon takes on an anomalous warmth

in vapors of words I speak to her.

In the stillness of the slow walk

down this winding stair into cooler air

i am glad for the way summer clings to me

the inner side

Somewhere between the closing of a lid

And the way we in the world absorb your eyes

Is a place where beauty takes voice

Speaks its refusal...to leave.

A disquiet that precedes rebellion

takes hold in this tiny space

As skin holds the  ripeness of light

To curl around the cherry lips

The warming of the inner side

Rises to the side we see.

Frailty becomes a delicate petal of night

in the moon’s special flavor;

Wrapped in the hour of its own choosing.

within your smile

 

In the time that passes from me to thee

A reflection of something so much greater

returns within your smile

Than the man before you; standing

in a space filled with your admiration.

When you hold my image

Speak my name

Or re-send a song I taught you,

There am I, small and hidden in one you invent

The one grown within your gaze