OREGON MISTS
Days pass like Oregon mists;
speaking in sotto voce
of the endless cycle
of being and ceasing to be
of cataclysm and aftermath
of awkward instants and
long afternoons.
NIGHT
Darkness,
it is so relentless
its transparency belying its grip
on my transcendent self.
I am drawn like the February lamb
untainted
unsuspecting
to the mother’s milk of night vapors.
THE LILAC
We see and we say
Oh, look at the long arms of the lilac
waving.
When in truth
it is the wind.
SNOWFALL
I awoke to the silent deluge . . .
falling
headlong
the bleached blood of martyr and rogue
spilled without regard
. . . by cruel Edict!
And as naturally torn from the maiden
wrapped in fear
a sacrifice to newborn gods
who wear it like rouge.
Yea, it is the blood of all
that falls
milky white
upon our mother’s breast
sup and sustenance
sap and soul
the phantom of redemption
made whole.
THE FOUNDRY
The massive hammer blows beat a steady rhythm, refining, transforming the white hot bloom . . . the devil’s flesh . . . and devil’s work it was. It took possession of the souls of men who worked there. Wages? Something for wives and children. No, it was the fires of hell, the searing heat of the river of iron pouring from the furnace, the cacophony of foundry noise, the knowledge that their lives depended on the uncertain sobriety of the furnace master. That’s what held them.
WHITE WARRIOR
White warrior
adrift in aquamarine
shoots soft arrows
in another time.
Tribesmen in dark robes
stand mute
awaiting
a new council fire.
Mothers of the multitude
stand guard
over innocence
shedding bright colors.
All
wrapped in echoes
All
wrapped in stillness.
IN MEMORIAM
Instant bird sound! Half remembered.
I hold my ears.
Brief screech of violent death
Pierces.
FIRST STONE
This first stone
stone upon which
stone shall rest
until the wall
shall be a sight
for all to behold
must be set straight
by loving hands
when it wants to fall back
into primeval slumber.
THE AWAKENING
Cloaked in dreams, I lay still
on the dry ground
until you came.
Your breath, like a warm breeze
Your words, like raindrops
Your soft eyes, like the planters moon
conspired to lift my head
and set me free.
AFTERNOON SHADOWS
A day may come,
when long afternoon shadows
run down the street
faster than you can.
And,
if only for a moment,
your courage will desert you.
I will be ready, then,
to hold you
like the caress of nightfall
so that your fear can exhaust itself
in my arms.