Propagation

One-winged migration
brown paper butterflies
descend from mother tree's
outstretched arms
coming down from such heights
to kiss father earth
and shed their temporary wings

For some it will be too hard, too dark
but others will deign to embrace the dirt
loosing sight of the sun
they will cloak themselves in darkness
and wait patiently for the growth
that will lift them towards a new light
and the chance to touch the blue
with their own green arms some day

Lessons from a Dragonfly

You must be born of the breeze
unpredictable in stillness and motion alike
able to flit as easily as float
you must never shy away from color
openly embrace shimmer
love the water as dearly as the air
be caught, always caught
between two worlds
do not return to the place of your birth
you can not breathe there anymore
just keep moving
taking short but frequent breaks
until some cool November day
you leave your body behind
on a painted maple leaf
slipping through the surface
to the verdant shores of an infinite lake
utterly unafraid and well acquainted with change

Blackbird

A shadow alights upon my arm
and I look to see a black bird
watching me from a branch
outside my bedroom window
onyx eyes cloaked
by feathers of spilled ink

The somber creature of night
sends an involuntary shiver
skittering up my skin
like a scarab beetle
emerging from the earth

Shoo, I say,
take your omen elsewhere

But then the sunlight reaches out
a warm finger of grace
to stroke the bird's silken head
with an iridescent shimmer
of vivacious greens and purples

That is when I understand
even the darkest blackness
hoards a multitude of colors
deep within its soul
and will willingly give them up
to a single ray of light

Sunday afternoon

White gloved paw on my knee
body like a chenille throw across my lap
murmur apparent through ribcage and fur
like hummingbird wings against my thigh
watching the raindrops get caught
in the window screens like fish in nets
flashing silver in a sea of green
and always mimicking my mood
he breathes soft as young leaves
shuddering under the weight of small water
his black nose wet as newly turned earth

Migraine

Drawn curtains eclipse the sun
sweet balm of dimness
salve of shadows
diffuse the ticking bomb
with the calm of a cool room
shut out the pain of a perfect day
liquid gold rays heavy as steel
driving railroad spikes into the mind
close the door, douse the lights
lie still as a fallen branch
and wait for the deliverance of darkness

The things that stick

The geometry teacher's fingers

were stained black under the nails

the flesh colored a watery brown

like chaw spit in the dirt

from working his tobacco farm all summer

The first day of class he lifted them up

for all of us cool kids to see

"This is why you don't smoke"

He didn't answer when we pressed

"Then how come you grow it?"

I don't remember his name

don't remember any of the math he taught

(except that beauty has perfect proportions)

but I do recall the buckeyes he handed out

to each of us restless students

after the dramatic show of hands

a token for entrance to an end of year party

held on his farm on the last day of school

I didn't make it, don't know why

And while I have never found the need

for geometry in my life since then

I use my clean lungs every day

and for that I thank him

Wild God

We tame the wild dogs

and shoot the wild deer

we cage the wild lion

for wild things we fear

They make us see the truth

that we are weak and chained

plagued with insecurity

labeled, boxed, and named

We crave control and safety

and so are kept instead of free

that's why we took our wild God

and nailed Him to a tree