How the Wind Owns Me

This terrible wind – straightening flags – bringing down rotted limbs – seems wild and full of mind, as if it weren't just the action of physics. I remind myself of this, alone in bed as I pull the blanket around my neck and over head, as if that would protect me from trees giving up their claim on the land. The wind owns me in way that fire and water does not.

She wrote, “the solar system of seeds” and just like that, I knew what I would be planting this spring.

Love; that’s the whole sentence.

The neighbor's Christmas lights dripping down from the roof like flashing icicles at 4 a.m. They are in my line of sight as I face east for morning balancing. Praying?

Another un-homed family comes to the library to get warm and find safety. Woodsmoke and the scent of rough, outdoor living contrasts the faint bookish smell of time. They ask questions about how to get a library card without an address. Later, there are needles and blood in the men's bathroom. Many come; we know their names and wonder where they've gone when they are no longer here.

Do you see that we've taken ourselves captive? Millions of sleeping people trying eliminate millions of sleeping people. Be and know another way. I am thinking about the times when Jesus said awake, watch, sleep not.

When I miss you, a sad song enters my chest and my bones slowly melt away as if trying to endure deadly heat.

Another snow fall after a 60 degree day of spring teasing. The invisible kingdom takes shape and I only want to make sure you can see it.