Sunflowers grow | beneath cliffs, a din heard in the mouth small sound of roots deep, stems bracing waves that crash high like a hand held to the face with eyes closed pauses all of it here, some will arrive by wandering but it is dark and so much unknown to wander freely or consider to stay. We see only their crowns as they breach the unseen, their beginning is close, just a step into a place the sun holds without ever saying, hello/ we could know them: their bright faces petals a happy yellow and lovely, framed in what some would say is joy but they are shaking their heads slowly no, yet again with each rising and setting, they follow from the place they would leave if only these deep roots inch by inch would pull free - Did you know stems grow in the night to the west so the head can sway to the east at sunrise. The stem guides like stars in the night, desert sky are persistent or pollen on a honeybee is small easy to miss but irrefutable/ they, are guided far round cold corners wide, clementine eye, happy and content/ how the heart keeps the mind stays the heart to keep on and the sound in this hidden place, brushing upon damp walls: the wind at the end of its journey over wave and accidentally in this hollow is song like woman who whispers, do not let me break, please but same way, rounds corners and rejoins the sky- wandering you may slide cliffside into deep ocean, not seeing it is a cliff where waves will slam the mark of this place, and will swim near a place dry but dark and cold when no one is around to see you. Wild sunflower grow, long stemmed and leave, I would say this old cave- eventually. Eye following the sun even as it sets with you, no madness or sad keeping of memory but growing round cold walls into the quiet beauty one day, of knowing nothing of the previously known.
Tag: strength
preservation
In that former innocence
a second sun bloomed
in my heart, and I
tucked dreams
and hopes
within my small fist
a moth within-
I held it
tense,
in careful regard.
Sometimes
I would tear, slightly
a ghostly wing
having
no space
in a hand to
move:
I shook or would
startle.
And so I began
when it was night
and I could hear the
urgency silenced
day-to-day
to still squirrel away
each fold of brain, the
tender stomach
delicate bones of a toe/
all beneath my pillow
where I would remember
whenever
I could rest
and today, there
I hold my hand
in sleep, reaching
feeling
something
alive
in my hands.
shatterproof
~how to grace
I have lived surrendered in hope
tied loose like the truth
in my mouth is loose
or a startled face is composed
loosely as a cloud sifts
the light of the day/
it was Mary’s sorrow upon
the backs of ladybugs; that
is a story people told
to explain the mar
of black. to become
echoes
painting poppies on dark
space of nowhere and
nobody, just
the brightest poppy with black
stamen sunk as beautiful
things are sunk in feeling
composed of all colors. How
delight is only found in
in the middle of a
crashing wave-
to live between the surety
and the unknown unfolding
In Due Proportion 