In the garden, I sat very still and asked

hanging garden

will you sting?

‘not very likely’
as she busily bent to her work
cataloging the latin names
of each herb and flower

will you dance?

sniffing she glanced at me
‘each movement I make is dance
and each step will be danced
for my sisters and brothers
to follow the map
of my intricate steps”

will they sing?

with a sigh
‘each breath is a song
sung to ancestral hives
and honeycombed futures
humming hymns
sweet and low’

will you stay?

‘yes, yes is the answer
as long as alfalfa is green
and the almond
blush pink
and the wide world
opens its blossoms
welcoming us to enter”

Things said and not said and all the Possibilities

tone and pitch
mean everything
the sound of the liquid vowels and
rock hard consonants
that spill on the water way
cascading over the falls
into that pool
that will be memory
of this
just now
the thought
just so
not spoken
in your eyes
blue as the sky
as the wing of a bird
that takes my notice
as you stop to consider
the next words
that will spill from your mouth
that mouth
a hint of a smile
tasting of life and ocean
where the truth will be spoken
or withheld
don’t say a thing