rustle in the trees
dissonance grows with thunder
air gathering weight
flowers lay open
swirls of insects tell the time
waiting for the break
earth breathes and cries out
to be christened in the storm
flashes leading home
sun to moon we dance
eerily hollow the trees begin to sing
sway amid woods’ embrace
songs without words brush green and deep
held close in summer’s grace
echoes
whispers
carry light
parting
shadowed
dappled right
alighting softly on long forgotten moss
turn into caressing wind
join chanting of leaves’ rustling loss
spirit waits to begin
soaking in night
how strange the clouds
before a storm
as they remind me of horses
and crying eyes
how velvet a freshly fallen petal
soothes more than touch
to waiting lips
as memories flood
how damask night
flickers threads of gossamer hints
as secret animals chant
to heavens’ myths
how smooth the ice
as it numbs my breast
only to be fired
by your tongue
storm watch
rustle in the trees
dissonance grows with thunder
air gathering weight
flowers lay open
swirls of insects tell the time
waiting for the break
earth breathes and cries out
to be christened in the storm
flashes leading home
almost free
driving
making up for time lost
abandoned in better places
like fields full of hopeful dragonflies
left behind in worse places
like alleys full of rusty grime
pushing ahead through exhaust
loving the taste of diesel
– it smells like being free –
settling
between blades of wheat
and Queen Anne’s Lace we sleep
finding breath in earthen mounds
beneath hands molding sound
covering open wounds
with healing mud and moon
resting until we melt away
– it feels like being free –
The Word Rummager 