I watch a lot of things

and notice the small bits mostly,

which is frustrating

when I have to look up names and towns

of wars or inventions.

I like knowing what a person is feeling

when they’re raging or writing or walking-

is it a painful step forward or a hunger

for mashed potatoes with way too much butter

or is it melancholy for missing

the softness of touch or is it simply

curiosity about what birds

may really be thinking

or wondering is there’s such a thing

as a sentient stone

and why do we imagine how people kiss

when we watch them talk (or is that just me);

are there smaller things no notice

or are we not meant to examine

our interactions with the world

on a subatomic level or

are there larger things with more importance

than kissing, rage, and potatoes?

I feel the planets pulling west

but there’s a northern light

moaning my name.

The valley is shifting again.

The trees are being stripped

leaf by leaf and they shimmy

in a growing restlessness.

I follow trees, bending limbs to ground.

The wind eavesdrops

as I confess

to the sleeping garden.

I’ve traded small ideas about sidewalks

and wildflowers for larger concerns

like finding peace in sorting laundry and

the quiet of midnight when day is done.

When the dark becomes too much,

I listen to my breath,

imagining the mechanics are similar behind movement and storytelling.

I try to be still but wander with my eyes and find little rest because

even air moves

and with it, untold dances I want to try.

Mouths and eyes and outlines of form

bending in the dark

Never quite sure of the landscape

Where to place feet or hands

Wondering at sounds from trees nearby

The quiet air crackling with otherworldly energy,

Keeping secrets from the light of day

But the stars know and aren’t telling.