forest

in the river...

running soundlessly through this stream of little bits of stone and rock flying like bursting underneath your car where that timed explosion ripped and screamed through every inch of your precious being and flew outward onto the sidewalk, where children ran and one young lady strode swiftly through city

after city

listening. watching. hoping maybe someone else might someday see the storm on the horizon or the pace of the city beside her or the speed of her walk or maybe even the location of her destination, like an island on a cloud, castles and jungle and flowers reaching down like a beanstock

offering

some protection
to the man with the drunken cow problem and a field of mud and rice slogging ever forward, planting ever more, each season turning to season and time for harvest and cold cold frozen winter...

snow falls
softly

don't wish it away.
don't wash it away.
don't melt it away...

Dream, Fall, Run

at last a proposal
to move softly with grace

towards a rushing river
moving in place

at last a bigger wish
for sunsets and rope

to fasten the package
and send with a note

to the far off island
floating on a breeze

high above a map
a library and these knees

cracked
falling off

laying down like overturned ladybugs
searching for ground

there's a pain in my back
what does it mean

does it matter i'm asking?

how does it seem?

shorter than wonder
loosed on a crowd

larger than nail clippings on your bathroom floor

after the party
when everyone came

and brought us all gifts
from seldom and same

lined up in order
then crumpled on the floor

playing is better
and never a bore

you know what to do

and you ran sideways like only you could into the forest into the trees

into a cave deeper than this house

deeper than this ghost

waiting for something

hidden
unknown

sitting on a ledge
sulking around a corner

showing
giving you hints

white ribbon
blue ribbon

bathtubs of luck and still you fall broken
into this well
deeper than never

into this dream
finding some way

to crawl back home
tired
well loved

worn at the edges
like that book i read fifteen times and then lost the cover

stories swirl around me
never enough

but somehow
everything

and a sometimes opening dream breaks forth
and a sometimes opening dream breaks forth
and a sometimes opening dream breaks forth...

What's this wide roller coaster over those smooth green hills on the way to the desert? A shiver and then a sunburn and looking for secrets under rocks in the sun. Have you found one? I found a secret trap door to a dark damp underground nothing like the city, nothing like the luster of well-lit crystal cave tours on the edge of a hill screaming sideways and tumbling off the sled into drifts of snow 6 feet high and stopping, staring, examining each small flake, each small droplet...

One small child collected droplets in a jar, much like making a home for a pet caterpillar, but how do you make water comfortable? What does water need for life?

So one day the jar was full and then poured out down the drain and put in the dishwasher and we are expected to go back to the box of blocks or the swings at the park blocks away... and around a corner to a little shop that sells old teapots and small etched glasses with chips for ten cents and we bought 6 for our lemonade stand on Tuesday afternoon last summer in silence.