I walk the orchard with eyes so wild
Heart so strong and free
I look towards where you fall from
Then bob back to where you’re from.
A-joy I see as each new leaf
Spreads out with all it’s cheer
And my heart leaps at every blossom
An orb of what’s setting free.
Into my hand I hold on to thee
Like miracle of child birth
Soon to be returned to earth
My footsteps weave through the orchard.
And fall like the rest of us;
Autumn my heart can never bear.
And sing it out to me
Steal it from the depths
I’ve covered up and closed.
Be the curling leaf
Upon which my gaze can never leave,
To the voice I never gave
Rumbling rumbling rumbling
Rain that never came
And tender so:
Frosting of my heart.
You know, it’s ok.
It doesn’t matter that the sky seems to fall when you stretch your eyes wide at the beginning of a new day. It doesn’t matter that the tangle in your heart matches the tangle of your long, curly, brown hair drooping about your itchy nose as you fling from side to side with a worn out cactus shirt reaching down to the same legs you rest your morning coffee on.
I’ve found a reason that doesn’t rely on these silly momentary things. I’ve found the silk road, pock marked by moths with an unsettling history that left a lot of sad pages in the brown covered diary I’ve never re-read. I’ve begun to maneuver this silk pressing just as I would walking through busy streets or desert, dry mouthed and heart fleeting as beats reverberate off of every single thought.
It’s a revolution that cannot get taken away, it’s the dull side of a newly sharpened axe. How many rows have you planted to become the star lit sky we all look up to; arms are better for hugging then the cold glass walls modern giants embed their soldiers within.
You’re not the only one with down turned memories of what we could never see, never hear, never even share from the distance we watch each other from – but our morning smells seem to remind us of nothing but the closeness we have; but evening silence is a feeling we so easily forgive.
It’s ok, and I’m never really very far.
Where is this spot that exists between dream and reality
The viscerally imaginative soft stuff
That shakes shaggy ground free of complaints
And sunsets clear morning’s dew
From cobwebs shining as if testing new approaches
To similar corners, similar filters, similar dreams
That sit still and recoil while inhale meets exhale
And spring meets autumn
And one meets two
And a shoe gets worn through by impermanence of space
That’s always been growing up and chopped down
And eaten and fed and counted and weighed
And slotted into a spreadsheet marked with scales
Ranging from zero to ten with a save button
That creates multiple redundancies.
When the only request is for a tiny piece of convenience
For just one moment.
And in a flash,
With feet firmly planted securely on uneven ground
And hands held out in wide Namaskar to this beautiful world
A little droplet of rain shall fall perfectly
Upon a freckled upturned nose holding thoughts
Of a sunny day and all the rays of life shall shine down
In abundant warmth like a ticking clock
Chiming in at every quarter hour.
I’m going to experiment with
My tongue tied around
Cruel witches dustpans
In the fall of a deep winter.
My hands will mix
An elixir potent enough
To knock sense
Into unsensible madmen
Rambling back and forth
In front of trailheads,
As the drugs take hold
And my tongue unfurls.
Dear Maple, so sweet
Your heart is my nectar
To warm on the cold days
To taste and to glow.
But that’s not all
Of your marvelous fall,
For yellows and browns
And greens and oranges
And burgundies and maroons
And suns golden hues
Shall greet me in splendor
From your largest of limbs
From your gloriously iconic leaves
And float to the ground
In a rain of pure gold
For all to behold
And bow to your throne.
And in spring
When your life shall return
I anxiously watch each blossoming bud
Counted with pure delight
From the ground where I await
In the birth of your spread
In the mirth of your stead
As I enjoy what beautiful view
Always awaits by your thick
And porous and clunky trunk.
I travel to lonely points of inactivity;
Challenge even the iron hearts,
Let my fruit fall all about me here
And lose my heart to a beating drum.
I crawl down to the setting sun;
Steep slope and I’m bleeding mom,
Hands gnarled, so let me gently down
Back to my cold and lonely ground.
I’ve swept out the tangled mess;
Chilling webs of my sweet duress,
If an Angel should come right now
Pull my arrow to shoot her down.
I don’t quite remember the day that it happened
But two by two they fell
Two by two the large trees that had circled my soul
Started thundering and crashing and heaving and falling.
And I looked up.
I craned my neck and looked at the new gap
Projecting sunlight this way and that,
Streaming little bits of another world
And catching particulate matter suspended in mid air.
My footsteps stopped.
My heart beat as my ears slowly identified the noises
I had so tirelessly huffed away,
Keeping a pace to get somewhere I didn’t know
And didn’t even have a reason to get to there.
So I stopped.
As it all came crashing down and whispers screamed louder,
As honeysuckles sprouted and ivy reached,
As leaves crunched and blossoms bloomed I stopped,
And that’s when I settled in.
Did you design the skies?
Did you place heaven floating
Amidst autumn leaves
And fleeting burning skies?
Did you button up cold birds
With warm woolly vests,
And marvelous plumage?
Did you gather piles of dead leaves
To spring board a crash landing?
Did you harvest pumpkins
Each of unique size and shape
To make my summer heart
Shift into darker hues of gold?
Well then, thank you.