postage paid

Cedar Wax Wing

I am writing to you
from this side of life,
though I know your answer will only be
in birdsong
or the autumn breeze
in the cedar boughs.

Longing for word
in faded ink,
written in your strong hand
or a picture postcard
from the other side-
‘Wish you were here.’

I await your reply

Going thru your desk, I find
the note you wrote
on the day I was born
and I know the longed for missive
has arrived.

postage paid

Nesting Material

January Bluebird

Bits of twine
and strands of dried grasses,
some smelling of autumn hay fields
and summer’s sweet grass meadows,
woven into a perfect nest
to fill the empty space
between my ribs,
left by my wandering

Flat footed, I stood
as my heart leapt from my chest,
flying to another spring
in another time,
leaving me
flat footed
and open to the birds
building their spring nests,
perfectly woven,
smelling of sweet grass
and hay fields.

Whispers on the Wind

Whispers on the western wind
Tell me tales of a land
Filled with scrub and blue northers
How you found three tarantulas
And a blunt nosed bull snake
Under the wood pile
That when you showered
It smelled of feedlots
As the dust washed away
With the days sweat
You sleep in a small room
Waiting for the autumn sun to rise
And working till it sets
Over that flat horizon
Your eyes seeing a different landscape
Rising to high desert dawn
And resting under vast starry skies

Listening to the western wind
I hear the sound of your voice
My landscape has changed too
Now an open empty expanse
Of lavender sheets
Stretching to the Ozark blue sky
Into tops of green cedar trees
North wind whispering of autumn

Come home
To the landscape of our life
Where the familiar hills and valleys
Long for your touch