august

my cooling
flames –

summer
constricts

yet fireflies
float and

moonlight
beams

into August
remains

rushes

dampened pines pointing
north along the banks –
she gathers rushes
for the fullness
of herself

Sturgeon moon –
we are breaking up
in the breeze

kiss

summer dusk lingering –
remembrance of a first kiss
vowless of another

breaking fast

delicate veil
of morning mist
tickling Oriole birdsong –
he, a flicker of sun
on my breakfast plate

shoulders

cradles
of rain tipped
into the mouths
of resurrected
prophets

too many
sassafras take hold
so shoulders and backs
go into it –
mid-June

home

dirt roads
towards heron blue
and pine ceilings
making faces against
the stars

in the still lake
sunrise reflects
to heaven and back
I am born where water
catches flame

mason jar

sharing summer's jar
of one more drink
before home
and the very thought
we were forever

pick me

uprooted sassafras
spindles of summer
in aching hands –
the work of rejecting
feeling alone

moonlight
glittering deep
in the sea –
old griefs
surface

thirsty

seeds
of a new way
taking root
everything else
untrembling, undisturbed

all life
anointed with pollen
in stale air but just yesterday
my body mistaken
for a tomb

no laughing from the creek
clouds offering meager hope
and Azalea leaves curled
close to death too thirsty
to let go

too thirsty

to let

go

sky temple

sky
once heron
blue
hovering
over still
waters
now
a cottage
of dreams
waking
to mango
morn

the bear

rotted
stumps raked
by bears
crumbling
from center
like generations
of dead

I walk past
echoes of hunger
and heat
as a wraith
of womanhood
wandering beyond
what used to be mine

incincerated

ashen weight
of night smoldering
these dreams once tended –
I'll never
laugh as easily
again

caught

breeze and murmur
catch me grinning
at stars –
night as reminder
of mirrors

shadow work

sunlight veiled
in wildfire smoke –
I now move unseen
at the edge of woods
and sleep in cradled
curls of leaves

breezes whimper light
to the ear yet I am a shadow
never making love
on the forest floor
or braiding starlight
in my hair

at night in bed
I face the west window
and trace the avian blade
of your back
I will never
see

maps

great blue heron
drifting overhead
his eyes and fingers
bending air into the way
home

happy now?

sun breaking through –
who watches words
leave this world wonders
if the sound of wings
is enough

regrets

syllables
on the bluff's edge
ricochet –
fall or jump
but don't walk away

straining

fledglings
a little lost
on the front stoop –
now I strain to pronounce
your name