Undone

I've come undone again –
reeling.

Yesterday I pulverized truth and
pressed it into open places,

my mouth suffocated
by honor.

Can you see how I am fearfully
and wonderfully made?

My white flag falls
to the floor; I am naked.

I've come undone again –
starving.

Today I run hard in circles.

Bondage and freedom pounding
into the pavement.

Home, out, home

I've come undone again –
trembling.

Tomorrow I cannot be
wrong because there is
no other
way.




Maps

no silence slips in
to roost
wind chimes – sprinklers – chickadees

nights are restless
as earthworms pop and lost souls
stumble down dirt roads

our maps
lead to lakes and painted canoes and bass
glinting of daybreak

my room peaks
with warmed sun

and sweat-soaked clothes
fall to the floor

what bears me up
prepares to gather
empty hands

August flies south
and with it
summer


Daybreak speckles a squatty pine –

along with tiny winged dancers
you only stir a bit

to stare and sip

as a black cat threads its way

through morning
shadows;

a train moans westbound
but you are silent.

Spring is spring yet never the same –

when light crackles
a hardened path

you are an infinite disappearing
above ragged rafters

and slanted beams

and granite clouds

and blue reaching into white into black

into everything.

Then, chipmunk chirps pierce the untethering
dripping like a high-pitched faucet:

Start.

Your.

Work.

Stop.

Staring.