horses on the trail
fairy queen over the fountain
wolves in every corner
statuary figure as mystery
better wonders than these
are scattered throughout town
greetings for stranger and resident alike
flashes of kindness that warm in these chill times
friendship and care shining brighter
than even the light in the verdigris trees
making true in this day the signature signs of love
warm silence and receptive space
these translate across lines
everyone wants to be heard
especially those hoarse from shouting
here a table with a couple of chairs
a pot of tea and cups to be filled
please sit, all are welcome
here is comfort . raise it
spoon to your mouth
sweetness like that of wild honey
shell to your ear
whispers of stories you loved as child
flower to your nose
mingled aromas from those you’ve held dear
hand to your heart
warm like love itself (and you are loved)
hold it gently and let it be
forever balm to ease your sorrows
wait before you leave, do not fly when bidden
do you have sharp edges that would cut
we bleed all too freely but unawares
do you have harsh tones that would bruise
we walk already wounded but numb
consult first the heart,therein wisdom and compassion
let these shape and temper whatever message you bear
even to find you stay contained within
letting kind receptive silence go in your stead
not there yet, and yet here
resting, grounded in groundlessness
arising as a playful moment, a brief jewel
sparkling with infinite reflections of all other gems
caught as a node in this boundless web
this rippling expanse of joyous laughter
he did not break in the obvious way
no splintered snap, a branch bent too far
no fissured crack, a stone’s hidden fault
he withdrew himself
a quiet subtle piecemeal going
as if hoping no one would notice
as if he himself did not want to know
holes appeared in the small fabrics of town
that once would have been patched before anyone saw
his kindness and care had been such threads
all the community felt his loss
though they knew not that they mourned
this moment, this day, these times
everyone is shouting
angry words, angry voices, angry indignation
all in righteous tones, each louder in succession
as if sheer volume carries moral weight
some few speak softly or not at all
occupied with ordinary tasks
but with attention nonetheless
fearing to find what quietness means
following such noise
if memory is what binds us here
makes real the ghosts that stalk the land
lay waste to the dreams of the living
tear at what hopes the future might hold
then I want to be forgotten
let the small good I do remain
kindness as intentional scree
shards of broken love for those better equipped
words dropped on back streets and banked trails
to be found if someone has need
but not me, never me
when I go, I would be gone
do not tie me here with false tether
and when they laugh as they throw me
into what they consider void,
they cannot hear that I am also laughing
this gap, this pause, this seemingly eternal liminal space
has always been my refuge
so I do not fall when tossed off an edge, I fly
because I know what they cannot yet
there is no threat here, no danger they can offer
what they see is their own face staring back
when I soar, they also have wings
she had a fine critical eye, so all around her claimed
and indeed she moved with arrogant flair
designers welcomed her with inward fear
for her monied taste entailed a capricious anger
that had been known to destroy a showroom
not often but just enough for word to spread
still if she chose to stalk the streets of Midtown
the District or the Quarter at night
and casually flash your bag or twirl your cape
others would notice and make their way to beg
make me look like her and buy buy buy
they never would, of course
they lacked the proper eye