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white petals answer

May 2, 2013

a black mass unfolds

the layers of its heart

rocking chair, wooden table,

narrow bed

ivy stretched like lace

across the windowsill

this morning

you can feel it too

the attention, the tenderness

of light waking

and draping each object

the way a mother enfolds herself

around her sleeping infant

or a bud holds the blossom

in its belly

 

the hiss of shoelaces winding ribbons

cedar floors calloused with the

violence of frozen routine

the door creaks open and

you look back one more time

some nameless feeling

elbows you in the chest

you can hear its breath

behind your neck

 

there is no road

only the palest remnants of

some footsteps through a forest

spectral tracks which could be

one of those comforting illusions that

speak guidance and company

within the silver certainties of solitude

 

exposed tree roots on the earthen floor

the way you might excavate your past

to see the surface textures

of your path

all those loose stones and hidden holes

buttercups gathering where the

creek passes through

 

each step forward

shimmers with death

fire and ash

new seeds blinking open

receive the hushed rumble

through the soles of your feet

 

in the crinkling leaves

in the blue jay’s shriek

hear the common journey

of women and men

hunting foraging fleeing

sanctuary vision quest

seeking longing

tumbling stones

human rhythm

human voices calling to the

full moon guardian light

are we there yet

are we there yet

are we there yet

 

only white petals answer

and drop to the ground

in a series of songs

 

you, with your incense and candlesticks

climb her ribcage to the top and

wait there while the winds crash

a healing storm

follow her secret folds into

darkness moist with a

quivering pulse.

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