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...