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 –
disarray
she was cutting wild jasmine
he tucked it away to remember
shoes tossed, linens rumpled
they marked their space without teeth
she was circling the bough waiting for heavy fruit to drop while he whispered to clouds to wash him clean
they answered signal fires with small gestures while they reimagined insect fables and song
candles soaked, light distant
they found a way to count seeds
he was pushing against wind
she twirled and felt her skin rubbed raw
prism
I had to duck
for the seeds were raining hard
it wasn’t an apple-
that’s a myth-
but I ate away at some knowledge
tried to share with you
you were happier not knowing
I was too
I always look left
since that’s the way you lean
want to lick you clean
keep holding through the dance
churning til we’re fused
blown glass shapes
can a day ever be new
when carrying the same bags
let’s wander
dress our nakedness with pages
adding to what we know
forgetting what we’ve learned
The Word Rummager 