We Live More Days

Right here,

Right now.

Everyday a resurrection, each second - in

miracles by the billions - each tick and every tock.

So take me as you find me,

for we live more days than we die.

Right here,

Right now.

My heart and my brain are

ephemeral shells of the eternal.

So take me as you find me,

for I am more than what you see.

Right here,

Right now.

Smiles stick to my face - no not fake,

just letting more light in, like medicine.

So take me as you find me,

for I need reasons to keep the curtains drawn.

Right here,

Right now.

The wildwood of my soul has a sewer

running beneath its river bed,

So take me as you find me,

for they both flow to the same ocean.

Right here,

Right now.

Scars from this life and the one before
I cannot remember, or choose to forget.

So take me as you find me,
in hopes that some things fade, while knowing some do not.

Right here,

Right now.

Everyday a resurrection, in

miracles by the billions - each tick and every tock.

So take me as you find me,

for we live more days than we die.

Right here,

Right now,

we live,

we are alive.

{we live more days}

3 a.m.

3 a.m.,

my soul’s on fire,

like the warrior’s dance of

lightning battling thunder

across my window pane -

ablaze with beauty,

booming with power,

on the fringes of life and destruction -

where the fear comes in...

you’ve revealed the poet in me.

3 a.m.,

I lie awake, dreaming

a demon into an angel -

it transforms when

fought face to face,

wrestled through the night

into the light

of day -

where growth and faith

are the saving grace

where the fear comes in...

you’ve revealed the poet in me.

3 a.m.,

we speak a language

in a tongue new to the world -

born within the voice formed from our

eyelashes, heels and soles,

without rhyme or words,

the stanzas unspoken -

yet we say so much

in smiles, in smirks, in the space

where the fear comes in...

you’ve revealed the poet in me.

3 a.m.,

Reading -

lost in a book

with pages that

only flip the direction

forward,

not back but stay

on this page,

go with the flow

between the lines -

where the fear comes in;

you’ve revealed the poet in me.

3 a.m.,

Saved

in a trembling kiss,

in a crashing wave,

all of life shows up and

fades away 

at once for

trust to enter

where the fear comes in...

you’ve revealed the poet in me.

Weeds

{without context,

intentionally}

Visions of myself

in the meadow of my mind,

skinny as a rail,

talking of things unrevealed

to the flowers

(or the weeds -

depending on how you see

them).

Everything is a metaphor

for everything...

and still, I am learning.

Sun rays on my cheek;

warm and

burning.

Spitting and 

spewing out beauty -

rejection

all over my face,

from a disorder

in the face of a

disorderly world.

Only still, I am learning.

I cannot tell the meadow why

it breathes and breeds

no more than I

can know why I breathe,

why I need.

Speaking out

to who and what

I do not know when or where or

why... only how:

only by being.

Be still, I am learning.

Visions of myself

in the meadow of my mind,

hungry as anything,

talking of things unrevealed

to the flowers

(or the weeds -

depending on how you see

them).

Everything is a metaphor

for everything...

and still, I am learning.

The Spirit Tree

{Of course,

For The Branches,
with so much more love
than words will ever hold}

The Spirit Tree forever lives -

and then again and again,

so do we.

The Spirit Tree
is where we build our nest -

through the rays and the glows

of the solstice’s test...

the folds of the

branches will never be blown bare

by the bitter north wind,

nor the southern flame and flare.

The Spirit Tree

firms its roots in the soil of life;

it bares stories in the forms of

leaves, flowers, fruits, and strife,

that fall into the spiral

of new buds and "remember whens" - a song

in the form of storms

growing a history deep and strong.

The Spirit Tree

is alive with laughter ringing,

baking bread, holy water,

and voices singing -

it soaks up the rays and the rain and

the tears and the pain;

with the cries of birth, death, and waiting

running in its veins.

The Spirit Tree

is here, and it is now:

echoing in a chorus of

everyday, eternal sounds:

we hold and are held by these branches

from where we first fell down,

from where we first flew up; and

from where the bees hum to the rhythm of the woodpecker’s drum.

The Spirit Tree

is not a mystery,

but a common vow that rests

in the nests of the chicks and maturity -

eternity round the rings of its trunk.

It paints the sky with rainbows; pages

of bark decorated with blossoms held together

with woven memories through the ages.

The Spirit Tree

cannot be seen

except in the form

of you and me,

where if you look closely,

your heart’s eye can find my soul’s mind;

it can picture a place

that gives our soul breath and through our’s, thrives.

The Spirit Tree never dies -

and then again and again,

neither will we.