Post Midnight, Pre Daylight

This Brand New Day

Tho we are older than we know how to be

our minds constant in childhood

in Wonder & Wholeness,

tho a blank sheet of paper tingles with expectance,

while swinging our feet from bed to find soft slippers 

brings our entire system into alliance with energy…

The years have shaved our dreams

with thin shivs

potent in airing out poofed-up problems.

These will come-round again no doubt

worries are sparkly-somethings-shiny

we follow into doubt.

And all below the bone & gristle,

in between the white & red cellular composites

Our eyes record, our ears take note

our feet tread familiar paths.

We pick up used dreams & lay them once more down.

—–

The seldom rain arrives

there is so much moisture here that to have it 

fall from skies above is an elemental excess

yet one we so enjoy: the quiet it draws over the land

panting in heat exertion

the plants so open to light open even more for moisture…

Each leaf a cynosure – how is this so?

the light, so bare & bold & bald,

so daily in presence

takes its upstage position

watching the scene change, darken, wash itself cooly

with wet.

that slippery place where life bursts

from the sweet stupor of heat

the dimming blur where secrets

unfold & seeds soften &

we start from new once more.

—–

We women cannot run from blood

for life is bold with it, rife with it

nourished & depleted in balance by it

Blood moves through us & sometimes from us

in cities & colonies of both growth & dying

We bring blood with us to everything we do!

Indeed, keeping company with blood is all we have

being such avid containers of its living, breathing presence.

It pains to bleed but then from blood we bear our secrets out & they are vivid in disclosure, obvious & quite disconcerting.

Concerning.

We bleed from our thoughts but bear our births with stoicism or screams

The either/or of choices.

I bleed no more of body

but Blood’s rich mystery still carries me into entryways where birth is mine to repeat,

Depend upon it!

—–

Faint voices carry through the open door

Unlike the rain which keeps itself to itself

Falling apace in a steady, focused fashion

A known mission & so fulfilled.

The voices thread, words indiscernible

Mood unknown

I cannot bring them to understanding

As these words grow on the page in their own shy sigh,

Blossoms upon blossoms, a Florida flower

Which, just when you cannot think it to bear one more petal, brings out a tiny white star to share.