Renounce Perfection


I renounce perfection,
yet it returns
unbidden in the plum bud,
crystalled dew, moss softness
on bare toes,
and in my own face
melting in your gaze.
Purity
is the inevitable consequence
of not seeking it.

Married Before




We've all been married to each other countless times:
it's complicated.

Our prenuptial agreements gave everything
away to the ex: that's why we're poor.

It's why you feel this flame in your chest
when you gaze at the baby in the grocery store.

He was the king betrothed to your eternal soul.
The wizened crone, inching forward on her walker

like a gray wrinkled worm,
was the girl you ran away with, the vixen

who yearned to be a pirate's wife.
It's why that dark perfect stranger makes
the twigs inside you bud with so much nectar

you just want to get down and do it
right here on the floor at Costco.

We're an Autumn garden of softening gourds,
crisping petals in a sunbeam,

mushrooms tangled around each others
golden roots, because in Heaven

none of us ever really got divorced.
We're still all rolling around on a king-sized

mattress, exchanging crimson cups of wine
in our twin-chambered honeymoon suite.

What more can I say, beautiful one?
This passion precedes breathing.

You gazed at me, I was created.
We were in love before the Word

could whisper, "let there be light,"
before any God so loved the world

that he betrothed his only son
to the Lady in the Garden.

When darkness opened its wound
to become a heart,

we taught God how to sing.
We touched before there were hands.


Don't Worry


Don't worry,
late Autumn cricket.
Don't worry, dragonfly
who just can't seem to settle down
on your glowing red leaf.
Don't worry, circling hawk,
fleeing rabbit,
angry obsessed
American politician;
and you, un-burnt seed,
smouldering all Winter with desire,
don't worry,
I have surrendered on your behalf,
and immersed you in the beauty
of this breath...

Spelling Doesn't Count

God's name wanders through everything,
Alpha to Omega, Ah to Zed, the la in Il’alla...

What dust is not a thread of melody?
What star is not uproarious,
shouting that Light?

There a liquid song that swells 
in the throat at the death of a warrior,
the way smoke curls from a wick
just blown out, returning 

to the lips that gave him breath.

A resonance in the electron 
toned at the edge of a dogwood petal.

The wail of atoms in their entropy,
the keening of space.

The drone of peepers rehearsing 
for Spring, plum buds gurgling 
rain down to their seed bellies, 

sigh of lovers turning over in the dark, 
entwined in undulant furious ignition
even before they awake.


Tulips bursting, crying for more,
the quiet of the forest rattled

by woodpecker echos,
or the sound of no sound at all 
from midnight till dawn,
except one ancient ululation 
of a mateless coyote. 
Did you dream that? Or was it 
the memory of something heard
before creation?

And this sound, listen! The blood 
tumbling from your volcano of meditation
through forests of myths and stories
into the sparkling trout pool 
of the amygdala.

When you yearn for the unspeakable, 
any murmur you make says, 
"Let there be light!"

What sigh is not a revelation? 
A moan, however it emerges, must be true.
The peepers pause, then start over. 
They'll get it right.

What sound is your breath making now?
Even the wildest weed, the tiniest petal,
scribbled with your syllable of prayer!



Fragments


“Imperfection is beauty.” ~Marilyn Monroe

And you have only just now
accepted the grace!
These fragments of your life,

the broken lines,
the missing phrases,
endings that don't quite

rhyme, beginnings
that die in non sequitur,
stillborn ellipses

of awkward syntax
silently holding hands
as you disappear

around corners together
alone again, until
suddenly it falls

into place
as a single poem
needing no interpretation

because the mystery
of your beauty fills
all the empty spaces...

Flower Now


Every particle that overflows
from the void
proves that there is nothing
but abundance.
Moths and morning glories
live their whole lives in a day
because they occupy
their own bodies
completely.
You could flower now.