I’ve been there when the mirror shows
a face I barely recognize.
When the pain of movement or even
thinking about the effort it would take
to move the muscles necessary to get up
is excruciating. I have imagined
a thousand ways to disappear. I know
the dark as intimately as I know
my own hands. And yet it is tomorrow.
The sun is actually shining off the snow.
My legs are carrying me without complaint.
I hold my cup of tea like a communion
with a force greater than myself.
Cheers, I whisper, to those gone
who may or may not hear me.
The sound of morning is sharp
but not as piercing as yesterday.
I ache but it’s a living ache, not a dying one.
When the sky and the hills
and the road and the grass
are all the same ashy grey
and the morning song is a muffled cry
with thousands of wings fluttering,
whatever falls is part of the grey
as it is hard to tell which way is up
and we are part of the grey
because the light is elsewhere
for the moment.
No barriers
With plenty of places to disappear
even as the world and time and light
all grow smaller,
there is a shelf full of hiding places
for my psyche (mostly Arctic- I choose
not to dwell on ‘why’ too much).
Like important geologic formations
some movement is indiscernible,
and like big philosophic climaxes
some whispers are like shouts.
We meet in our thermals
with no barriers.
Through a Griffin’s Smile
A griffin types furiously on the old Royal
as ivy and ferns try their damndest
to coil around the return key.
A land-locked scuba diver keeps a tally
of how many licks does it take
to get to the center
for our dear ballerina, who toils
amidst the brambles to seek the beauty
of release and with that, a leap into the One
whose hands can shape mountains
and cradle stars.
The griffin smiles, and it’s wicked, sweet,
as the story rises from behind the ribbon.
Untethered
Every time I mention color,
there’s a zing, a tether
connecting me outwardly
to something bigger
and every time I see morning,
I wonder if this will be THE day
and every time I breathe love,
someone shakes the ropes
holding me fast. It’s a messy fall,
every time,
limbs flailing across sunset,
the reds masking the blues
and my whole body tingles
with an ineffable desire
to do it all again.
