THE WEAVE:

Lilith writes herSelves

to sleep upon the waves…

X | WHEEL OF FORTUNE

Sometimes, I feel like
I am sitting on the back
of an old boat, as I

boil Water, dangling
one leg over the end
of my tailgate, writing

poems.  I think
I probably am someWhen
on some timeline, as the Wind

blows into a tapestry
I'd sewn, like a sail:
squares of green

pasture below tan Sky,
and a setting Sun
of hot pink and black.

The Death Star,
filled with blooms,
and elephants; ten

spokes of the Wheel,
above the horizon, mulching
Soils of Who Knows What.

The past, the Present, the future
-they all meet Here at the Ever
Waving Cross.  How many

stories can you hold
at once?  Do you know
how many Tales you've spun?

Do you watch them
come alive, up from
your Dreams?  Can you bear

to make peace
with what you are:
Creating.

THE COWS HERE SING

their songs, like the ancient
UrRu mystics from, "The Dark
Crystal."  I do not often see them,

but their deep tones echo
off the rocks.  They remind me
of dinosaurs, or monks,

chanting the Hours.  They are
Desert Whales, cooing
through the Winds of Dawn.

They are the Sea Master's
conch, calling through
the Fog...