The music lifted
my body is such a way
that I felt weightless
and barely noticed
weather or worry.
The horizon was wide
and time meant little.
I was so young,
dance was my way
of speaking.

Somewhere along the way,
I forgot to listen
to my own rhythms.
I forgot about music!
Can you imagine?
I’ve been singing
with geometric thoughts
found in skylines
instead of following
patterns of clouds.

I am unsure of the steps,
more so as I get older.
I forget the words too,
but maybe it’s ok
if I make up my own.

Lolling about in a stew
of stars and comets,
knowing there are patterns
other people see.
I don’t need to abide
other people, just my heart
and the one I love.
We have our own sparks
that form grand mandalas
if you know how to read
what you can’t see.

It’s so dark, it’s hard to tell
if it’s dew or crying
pooling before daybreak.
I’ve always liked this time,
the time without definition.
When shadow may be
a hug or a last look back.
An ache may be from
wishing or from squeezing
a wish inside a fist, a trap
we can fall into just before
we get wise and let go.
It’s quiet but with a soft wisp
of leaves and nightbirds
rustling to share a song
that may be love or indigestion.

I tried to write the joy
that has overtaken me
and somehow, mostly
bitterness came through.
Bemoaning the body
I once had, the appetites
that now seem foreign,
the stories I thought
I might live. The sun, moon,
and break from headaches
seem like lofty ideals
like the romance of star maps
or endearments I’ll never feel.

Have I been swallowing
great big gulps of sadness
too long? Is it disappointment
twisting my stomach into
a chronic condition?

Web MD says it could be stress or
menopause or food sensitivities
or latent trauma rearing its head
like Nessie refusing to be caught.

I watch the flowers bloom and wither
and feel I’m keeping pace
with things that are too fleeting.