Round Rhythm

Cyclical in serenity, growth like large forest ferns.
Reach up and pray, wipe away Fir's tears.
Heaven beams shift and break, but do not sway.

Mother ate, savored each last bite there was to take.
Loved and hummed and peaked warmly by the fire.
Slowly kissed blossom away, offered to the river.

Walkers haunting, they are among great girths.
With many faces and dry, tired eyes observing.
Blanketed up to the necks. Moss and feathers.

Snake coils, pulses. Shoulders herself forward through each constriction
Breaks free, drapes across the sun-held boulder to bask, tension gradual in release

She's a beautiful stretch
Even as she's hunched
Cramped with creativity
Hungry for air and water
Turned tired by the moon.
She's lovely to look at
Supine in the bed
Dreaming and Weeping
Condensing and mending
Clearing
Refilling
Sending
Dropping.

Supple and flexible arms are outreaching.
A hunter's strength for moments of embracing.
Wind's slight brush, subtle valor of the hawk.
Ritual of the Lover's Circlet by a Zodiac Warrior.

Loving Saint Salmon

Saint Salmon, are you in love with the Hazel Tree?
With Quiet Spirit and her gently smiling Tiger's Eyes.
You've looked upon her standing tall and still,
Her wise expression cast upon the clear immemorial skies.
She is your breathing, reaching goddess,
Her feet rooted strongly in the cool fertile earth
And her arms uplifted in lasting, jubilant prayer.
To moor her adoring attention and ardent affections
You have polished your armor along algae-hugged rocks
And rose handsomely and let the clean air touch your face.
Old Sun's rays shone brilliantly across your lustrous scales.
Illuminating her green leaves, pirouetting in the zephyr.
Too quick your sunbeam shifted and raced back skyward,
And she did not behold the source of radiance.
She was lonely and your eyes were blinded by the sun.
Saint Salmon, you've shed many tears into the rushing stream
until they filled the great wide ocean and turned it all to brine
And the ocean creatures felt with you your great sorrow
And could do nothing but seek through the endless seas
To find their own loves and hold dearly to their exquisiteness.
But, Saint Salmon, your lovely Hazel Tree stands firm
Overlooking the chilly, babbling waters of your home.
Eternally pursuing the warm light she had received.
Though you shine for her, the clouds dilute Old Sun.
Her eyes pass you by, but her heart knows your soul.
She feels the emanations of devotion from below.
She will toss plump tokens of wisdom down to you
Which leap from springy moss to break into the waters.
The melodic splash, heralding this provision.
Saint Salmon, you will blush and laugh the underwater sounds of bells
And bend Heavenward to catch her keepsake upon your tongue.
And you will know that she loves you wholly,
For as long and deeply as you love she.

The knowledge of Love
Is all we need.

An Unfinished Thought

I did not eat the right kind of food
Grown with the fertility of your lips
Nourishing to my feeble spine.

This I did not eat.

I plugged into electric waves
buzzing friendly animosity
A current sparked system.


Great bellowing and belching healthy mothers sitting criss-crossed
Full-wombed bellies are hanging lazily to the forest floor
Breathing in the moss, decaying leaves, and animal scat.
Healthy, full-grown boys beating drums, erupting from engulfing safety of mothers curves.

Stronger kings, in fungus armor, and handsome manipulations of rain-mist sabers

So many tiny children, with pygmy hands and feet will scatter, spin dizzily come back again.
Into stronger knits and weaves and draping, fine garments; dazzling, shining teeth
Reaching back all the way into sickly sweet cheeks.

Lovers, dancers, evangelists, intimate spirit-souls dream woven waking up and feeling
Stretching, reaching,
Seeking for that warmth with fingers outdrawn,
Longer than they have ever been,
With One Wish.
Oh, if only, to find that last trickle of warmth that you had left,
To find that sweet fragrance of your having been,
That chance brush against your humming skin.

It was taut against your shoulder blades, your contracting, relaxing, muscles
And sang attractively when plucked.
Twanged, purred, groaned.
Harmonized. Rumbled and shifted to shake rolling meadow grasses and vent fervid steam into the deepest of the Oceans.
Strummed from your hip, determined by the pressure of trembling fingers
Held to that gentle sloping of your neck.
A well traveled path from the lobe of the ear to the expanse of the collarbone.
That intrinsic, honest entree for the whispers of my lips to the mighty pumping from your heart.

Worried at Wondering, Revisited

I'm being a tormented, curling & twirling Storm Ocean.
Roiling about the confines of my sacred space
And dwelling on how pretty I look each time my eyes pass the reflection.
Ovulation is treating me nicely
And I feel I'm looking my best,
But underneath I'm nothing but drenched.

There are dainty little grains of sand beneath
And all they say is that there's a lot
To doubt about all this swirling around.
Go lie down and weep.
Because you're not enough.
You're just the Stormy Sea
And without the land you can't make a beach.

I believe that the Land needs the Sea
To meet at his River Mouth and she drinks happily from his soul.
Dances and cools his cliff faces
And knows something is missing far away
Where the Desert is stretching fully like the morning sunrise,
A dry and parched thing after the cool, starry night and wine drinking.

Standing still the tendrils of cool air streams will reach
And flutter my skirts about my tangle-swaying legs.
So I spin and become a maker of the wind.
A cool drink oxygen to race and stimulate ever-reaching spiraling veins
Filtered by the mist, so thick, hanging in the chilled aura hanging about the sea.
A gentle kiss of brine.
A northwest and perpetual clinging love.

Here, filling my time in circles circle spiraling in and around, around.
Arms tick-tocking crossing and colliding shifting and rotating
Loving center of gravitational pull
And a clock face that faces no particular direction.
A perfect mirror image of the look upon my face.
Framed in a circle circling a forming spiral turned to turn back in onto herself.

I could never trace living, lovely lines
Into the vibrating aspiratings of universe and universe alike
While weeping, lying, weakly winding down until unmoving.
Still, I cannot determine if I'm not yet dreaming.