a season

Suddenly we're in spring.  Suddenly I realize that I haven't spent a whole lot of time looking back, haven't been feeling my usual reflective self.  I've been pulsing forward, each step, each sunset, each day full and splendid and exhausting and challenging all in one bright, sunshiny package.  It rained on Saturday and it was the kind of day I needed.  It forced us to stay in, to take it down a notch, to snuffle in bed and chill the heck out.  Today's sunshine had me back at it enough, in fact, that I actually want to write a few things down.  When I think of this winter, I think of tremendous friendships.  And amazing skies.  I think of unusually sunny February and March days, adventures outside with my sweet family.  I think of this earth and this breath and this energy that is so full of love and light. 

 The Cord

The back of his neck is soft leather

eucalyptus branch

soothed muscle

negative space

sacred space

holy land.

With two fingers I move

upward across soft fields of

golden hay,

a California sunset.

The sun dips and flares

dips and flares

and we sit in silence.

There is no one else in this world.

My mama is far away.

My land is far away.

This perch on rock,

this full bottle.

Greetings, my name is Empty.

My name is Still.

When sacred spaces wake

belly between knees

 the edge of a tattered sofa

ordinary Monday  

senses open one and then

all at once

you are a quake in my system

a tsunami that tears through my tiny town

shoulders wide

open me again and again

a million little shards of glass

a million little lifetimes

there are bed posts

wooden and carved

spirals and flowers and seashells and sand

rain

so much rain

the ocean and her tendency towards tides

 her relentless ways

her insistence on always being right

the red flurry, landscape, ancient petroglyphs

form between us

the vast and open skies

scent of lilac from frozen ground

so sweet and new

just like you.