I sit here in the back
Imagining I smoke
Feeling the night air
Curse through my mind
Lazy with a faint desire
To hold my body close
Ache with a consistency
That turns red
Beneath my nails
Crawling like breath
Upon night air
Air is warmer here
Among the banana trees
And broad leaves
It lays about you
In spots that used to stay warm.
There is no separation
Between warm and humid
There is no dry
There is just a light breeze
From a passing window
With no repetition
In varying degrees of exhaust
Hoping whatever it is that’s making
The breeze keep so friendly
Keeps doing its work.
This moon is alive
It howls with coyotes
And burns with fire
It sings through maples
Blowing softly in night air
And it dances beside stars
That wink as they move.
This moon has brilliance
That squeaks through cracks
Carefully laid to catch
Spiders and light.
But this moon speaks not a word
Lays not a sound to an ear
Because it is alive in night’s embrace
Way up high beyond reach
As a symbol to charge
What hasn’t been remembered.
Colliding with my waking moments
Fleeting and palpable
And shifting listlessly through
Mountain streams and alpine trees
And rocky breezes and sunlit dreams.
My held breath seems to remember
What was once an immensity,
So unfathomable to each peculiar life form
– Gliding restlessly upon the surface of dreamscaped imagination –
Yet so identifiably palpable
With my very eyes closed
Facing towards the source of my waking moments
To believe in a word left unspoken.
I never wanted to catch you here
Between poplars, cedars, Douglas fir
Bending each midday breath
No, I never wanted to find you here
In lush green grass and blooming lilacs.
I had a dream that felt the wind
So here I came to let you in
I never wanted to find you here
Though my ancient roots held me near
My leaves they blew into air
With grasping hands I let you float
Though in my mind I never lost
What you knew now was dandelion
And I never wanted to find you here.
To breathe the first breath of ocean air
Deep into my starving lungs
As sun dips down to half past seven
I realize the tide’s becoming.
Even with my toes exposed
I find salt refreshingly tickling my nose,
Seagulls cry in celebration
And driftwood leads me forever on.
I roll my pants to half mast
And whistle to a little snail
Who’s slowly off to go out sailing
And I, my eye, to the clear blue sky.