Amnesia

my heart does forget;
it remembers everything
but it’s weary self

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Breathe

I close my eyes,
breaths slow and regular as I listen to the sounds of life around me;
the hum of a boat engine gliding across the lake,
the sputt-putter of a jet ski‘s playful path,
waves crashing and lapping at the shore,
the low murmur of human chatter,
of belly laughter and the overflow of children’s giggling

I allow my mind to catch on to one or two of the intimations,
savoring them,
and then releasing them back to the great wide open

with each breath,
I spread my mind wider and wider around the abundance of life,
until I inhabit every space of it in my slow breathing

I am the low rustling in the treetops,
the splash-pushing of the gliding of the paddle,
the buzz-buzzing of the bumble bee hovering around the wildflower,
the vibration of electricity in each heavy footstep upon the grass around me,
the calming sway and then peaking of the water on the rocks,
the throat-pulse of every living thing

I breathe,
feeling the life inhale and exhale through me,
absorbing the familiar thread that connects it all

Emerging

frightened, counting every moment between breaths
aching to share all the details, even the why
the river of words gone dry
expectations dying a thousand deaths

yet, resolve trudges on, pressing past the verge
proving they can’t be numbered, not yet
the precipice must be met
truth ready to emerge

no more thread to needle to skin
no need to stuff it in
no more charlatan smile
real, stay a while

-image via Pixabay

The Price of Freedom

‘give me your tired, your poor,
your huddled masses yearning to breathe free’;
I’ll make you empty promises,
then your children I’ll decree

give me ‘the wretched refuse of your teeming shore,
send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me’;
I’ll build border armies,
and internment camps for thee

‘I lift my lamp beside the golden door!’,
and then slam it shut, so you’ll pass through nevermore

-image via Pixabay

My Child

my child,
here you are

some will tell you your whole life is ahead of you,
they’ll draw you a map and tell you how to best reach that life,
and that may very well help lead you to some kind of fulfillment

but I won’t say those things to you –
your whole life is right now,
it’s in every moment you grasp with both hands and hold close,
it’s in every interaction,
every thought, both light and dark,
in every turbulent feeling

I won’t say those things to you,
because I’ve been gifted with all the best moments,
with witnessing you grow,
and watching you blossom,
while I grasped those moments to forever hold them close

I won’t say those things to you,
my child –
I see you grasping moments,
and I trust in YOU

I know you’ll find your own way

-image via Pixabay

Home

in a single breath,
bodies collide,
all hands and fingers,
grasping and digging,
until all-the-weight is pinning her down,
anticipation buzzing between them

tangling around wild curls,
gripping fists pull her closer,
and closer still,
until her every gasp
becomes his next breath

begging to be traveled,
slick bodies are grand landscapes,
delicious peaks and valleys
for savoring,
hands and teeth and muscle
the cartographers,
charting maps through hearts
and over needy flesh,
as they merge

he moved in her,
with her,
for her

and she knew exactly why –
now they will always
find their way home

-art by Leonid Afremov, Kiss of Passion