washing machine

This is the start
a necklace of trees
the Chewuch River a soundtrack
borders carved by water’s edges
even the earth has curves

Then a door shuts
trapped in a windowless room
between bites of lunch
he argued the benefits of his pyramid scheme
this time the lure was perfume
previous closed door conversations shilled
vacuums, knives, and fire extinguishers

These moments
now shadow length memories
and quiet like fire
baptismal reflections
woven tight as narrative

From country darkness to city light
the water still glitters wickedly
we find each other in this way
our collective hardness
now exhumed as memorial
we are living loudly
an anthem and ritual that always repeats

versuchung

“The deep is in riot, the coastline is quiet…” Archers of Loaf, Chumming the OceanĀ 

Laura McPhee. Snowmobile Headlights, Valley Road, Custer County, Idaho, 2004

the entrance is always different
always dramatic, the clouds look bruised

chaos its own predictability
then a King of Cups tarot card was pulled

light appeared filtered as if from inside a cathedral
poetics expand silently like prayer

temptation deserves awareness
that feeling: listen

nested privileges
unwound to their most fragile state

this is ephemeral revelation

devotion

august 2008

what weeping hearts we have
always moving like the ocean
a perpetual reclaiming

use gravity to resist
soft tension its own function
an opening, a fulcrum

expansive horizons essential
unraveling tragedy into inspiration
slowly peeling oranges on a Sunday morning

relax into that knowledge
wrap yourself into me
a dreamers life

communion

sunsets are starting to look Pacific coast again
pink light lengthening its reach
as clouds become incarnations of stampeding horses

(apocalyptic if that is your orientation)

the crown of flowers was her own creation
made from remnants of first-date napkins
forming a graceful relationship to reciprocity

those echoes found delayed in repressed rhythms
where she returns to these kinds of questions
as murmurations as stimulations as exchanges

(our intimacies measured by exhale)

she dreamt in currency, in time
scaling up as undoing: euphoric
this consecration mine and yours