ARRAYED
As still as death
no movement in this dark place
no chest rise and fall
no stars, the dark sky belying a spark
well hidden, as if
under a thick layer of leaves
the forest at dusk.
Sometimes the light finds us
penetrating, a rare occurrence
thru the underlayment of dark’s cold blanket
and the wolves…
the wolves, even as spiritual cognizant entities
arrayed in a fan on the utmost slope
looking down at us
show a respect, and gives us our new respect
not the deference of black fear,
for our ability to protect ourselves.
FIRE LETTERS
The sounds of bagpipes
echoing thru the lake mists.
If there was to be
a soundtrack
to this dream
the universe volunteered it.
This dreamer was dancing around a fire
dressed as a Native American
A tall, red “R”
stood monolithic in the burn.
The “R” stood for rejection
an action verb
implication clear
and the fire burned brightly
all around the base.
Three brothers in black
passed by the blaze
walking in step
shoes lit up with each footfall,
suddenly stopping the dance, seeing her waving
as if from a great distance
like the divide of a deep canyon
unreachable, untouchable, almost un-seeable,
across the Deep Divide of dreams.
TELLING STORIES
She came up from the audience
after the reading
obviously engaged
with the last poem read
where the wolves were arrayed above
on the mountaintop.
She wanted to say it to me.
Clearly she was still on that piney slope there.
The pen writes what the muse dictates
engaged with the speed of intuition
words flow out, they are smarter than I am
they know where to place themselves
how to dance with the soft curves of a comma
standing with the solitary unmoving periods
with the butterfly flitting of an ellipsis
and pointing that-a-way with a colon.
It is lightening in the storm, tho
that one off in the distance
over there across the red and yellow canyon-lands
you can see the line of storms moving
the sky a drama of grey-blue rain showers
even as the sun sparkles still
over, closer
to my vantage point.
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