Field Guide to the Constellations:
Each glowing light, a bit of yesterday
or 10,000 nights
or 10,000 light years ago.
If you choose to remember,
the past is always there.
Just look up-
there lies Cassiopeia Hercules Cygnus Draco-
string them together,
wear them as a crown.
I hover between rejoicing and grief
My brothers life is saved.
Cancer defeated with the deep magic
of science and the deep magic of prayer.
He will grow old now, his blood newly
Created and restored.
On my knees,
I rejoice and shout with tears,
Praising the God of creation and healing.
These tears mingle with despair
For our nation, its cancer, metastatically blighting
Families undone.
I am undone from the cries of babies
And grieving mothers clutching their empty arms.
I shout to the God of strangers,
To save those angels we turn away
Inhospitably in our hot deserts,
The infants pulled from their mothers breasts
To crouch on hard hearted floors.
I look for the magic to find the cure,
The deep magic of hope and love.
Save these lives too, I pray.
Restore and re-create the country I once knew
Bring back that deep magic
Of welcome asylum,
That deep magic of sanctuary and home.
dear one
the lane is swept clean of the sweet pears petals
now the small dog and I will rest
the angels will arrive soon
all is well and as it should be
yours
as always
dear one
clouds billow and jostle across the brow of the ridge
the baker had only the sweetest loaves on the counter
tea will be ready soon
all is well and as it should be
yours
as always
dear one
this morning, the cat knock over the cream
lapping it from the sunbeam pooled on the kitchen floor
all is well and as it should be
yours
as always
dear one
the angels came and rested awhile
the sweet peas are in bloom again this year
all is well and as it should be
yours
as always
with love
I am a sorter
sifting seemingly disparate objects
into their correctness
their order
the universe in its puzzlement
its state of chaos and disorder
requires only to be shown
its beauty
its infinite glory
to be put to rights
everything in its place
its correctness
its grace
The feigning moon
Hiding behind the hedge
Cocks her head as though to run down the alley
Suddenly
Leaping to the top of the old oak
She winks and smiles
The seining moon
Scoops up fistfuls of stars
Letting the waters flow through her fingertips
And into the ocean sky
The reigning moon
Crowned with comets
And sparkling diadem
Deigns look down from her sapphire throne
To our upturned faces
Where we are held rapt
And moondrunk
words that rhyme with waning part 2
I decided to write a silly poem about the moon
But your name kept coming up in conversation and with it
the way the moon looked that night
And the way the air moved with the trees
As though they had secrets to keep
There is nothing really that rhymes with the waning moon
Nothing that I can think of except that it sometimes rhymes with the snow
And sometimes with the way your blues eyes capture the moment like a polaroid camera
How is it that I have lived all these years and didn’t know
that shaking those pictures didn’t make the image appear any quicker
My impatience to see what I had just seen
To record it somehow so that it will be clearer
that waxing and waning are still metaphors
And my hair is still silver in the soft white light of the April Egg moon
I don’t believe in ghosts
though sometimes I wish I did-
to see her face and maybe sit for a while together.
Yes, I would be willing to believe
just to hold her hand again
and laugh through my tears.
Grief leaves stains-
a little like sweet tea
on an old linen cloth-
most times
its hardly noticeable.
He would build us kites
from the newspapers funny pages-
dull colored newsprint,
a bit of wood and a roll of string,
the kite would soar into the wind
and we knew
he was magic.
***
He would let us hold the spool,
the string tied to the kite
already out of sight
in the odd half light
of a west Texas spring late afternoon.
I would feel the tug,
urgent and insistent,
as if I could be pulled from the earth
to rise
swiftly away.
I woke this morning
feeling that pull
that urgent, insistent pull,
from almost sixty years ago,
to rise,
into the spring light,
to rise
swiftly away.
