Walk on the ShoreYesterdayyou and I skated barefootthrough the sand.A strip of shoreline laytracedwith our lazy stepsdipping into new oceanwithout hesitationor fear.TodayI went down to the waterwith a stone in my chestand a long shadowstretched out before me.My shoes were on.
Gull on the WindAt the shoreI heard a Gull calling acrossthe bay withthe voice of a boatswainthat the sea captured in a swell.Ah, the poor wanderer...and I thought of the grave--your bones scattered by the tide;and mine,alone in an earthen tomb--soul expired fromt the huskinto wind.But it will not matterwhether black of soilor black of ocean deep,for it is Istretching out beneath your wingslifting you into the skygiving you flight.
Equal and OppositeWhy must we be pulled together?The first wordsyou breathed into my hairreverberating through pools of pale sunrise.My fingers traced a spiralon your chest.Perhaps it is the nature of all thingsequal and oppositeto unitelike magnets.And so it isthat your charge turns positivethrough my negative space;and the mere tug of a drawstringwill make the universecome undone.
Fenrir and the StarI dreamt that you swallowed the sky;snapped those cold chainsa second timeand ruminated a fragilefreedom.I dropped from the empty blacklike a loosed diamond--tumbled into strange country,into your untame hands.Who can alter fate's design?You, there with a swordin your throat,and I, lostamong equivalent millions.Or will we trust that windblownwe too may take rootand flourish?The scale will tip, Lone Grey:For who would destroy the worldwhen there is so much love to make?
Rag-doll of KilkennyI will not speak of where I found herbird-boned and fragile;all rag and filth she wasand gazed at me with hungry eyes--that were not fiercenor calculating,but empty as a piece of sky.It was the eyes,as they were,chilly and still blue,very roundand almost popping outof her shrunken face...the loose jaw bobbing--no voice.I swaddled her in my apronand brought her through the door.All I hadwas a bowl of milkstill warm from the May cow.When she finished,her lashes were moistand I thought I sawthe ghost of a smilebefore she laid by the smoking ashes,content,limbs heavy like clay;and,like clay,grew cold.
Of Hazel and WellOld Hazel is bent with the load--bowed boughs shade the Well;swelling waters of Moon tidehide an ancient Mother.Another season Hazel waited--mated to time and mysteries and when ripened let fallall her epiphany and "splash!"Flash of silver answers in echoing hollowsswallows the vessel but retains its giftand swift returns to deep, dark, and cold.