Some of The Ropes and Chains

Image result for image storm

Every storm has a quiet cradle:

A cell in which I can sit with myself and my shadow;

Rain and wind are doubtless a-coming

But before the tempest noise stirs

We get to read between such lines as we can see.

I look through my own eyes – in these moments –

And into my own eyes, seeing beyond, behind.

We’ve started some big fires to get here,

Jumped into and over others, it’s true

And, after this latest hurricane has

Passed and done some damage

We’ll enjoy a summer garden again.

Yet I cannot escape the feeling that I’ve

Let go of some of the ropes and chains

That have anchored  me

To the valuable past.

And it frightens me.

 

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Tell Me …

Tell me:
Do you smell the snow,
The fall that’s yet to come?

And:
Do you sense the bitter spoor
Of the desperate, hunting
Long tooth cat?
The souls of those she seeks?

The graceful ghosts of
Those who’ve past
Walk with your feet,
Share your eyes and
Speak in your gestures:
The time has come.

I am delight-hearted
That we will
Sit the rib-fire,
Together, this evening;
Feel the unsettling, eastern
White-wolf breath
As it passes
To polish the
Proud, precious spirit eyes
Of winter-sky watchers –
Scrubs the dark-witch distances
Dividing them.

Proud to sing
The pasts with you –
And to dance
Our futures.

12/1/2013