October 25, 2021

In Breath Is Hope

The ocean breathes 
for the earth
in respirations as deep
and rhythmic as human sleep --
its dreams of beseeching 
and entreaty fanning out
unread and unheard 
on every shore -- 
then fainting back
into foam and nothing 
but wind and the taste of salt
before resuming--
in fidelity and hope.

For Tom

Sometimes I think
you and I were
fashioned from
each other's rib
rather than
divided in origin
by breath
versus bone -- 
because you
are a protector
of hearts --
holding
in steady state 
at my elbow
ready to laugh
or console 
but always 
to help –
your hand 
lifting and warm
never cold --
Forever
unspooling 
as love, our
daily choice. 

Must Have Wings

I suspect
the creature of
my creativity 
is the owl --
pacific in her
own certainty
shy of interference 
and mysterious --
her night wings
broad, her thirst
for daylight 
unquenched.  
So long
held in check
but now unloosed
she soars the 
undulate moor
to roam and hunt --
her gift
the full measure
of wingspan
molded from gristle
and magic --
every feather an idea
every quarry a question --
the leafy wood 
no longer
 needed 
for refuge.