push down above the heel,
bundle the gathering of footsteps

pull from the toe, remove the day.

grant feet peaceful pause, likewise

naked feet are closer to the dirt,
just in case.
there are finger prints lingering on my cat.
I’ve been there and still remain.
before fancy fractal words, summer meant
fingering free the larger hill slope rocks
from their binding ochre talc nest.
new dishes. they make me wonder if they’re
getting ready for when I’m not here anymore.
I tolerate the change but not in a friendly manner.
the cat curled to sleep less than two feet from my head.
this is radical accomplishment.
secret identities.  I live by tactile recognition.  Ahh… I’m here.

the nature of air

          you are but a whisper on the lips of God.
          as a whisper, you pass on ever so soon,
          like a line of poetry written on the waters of creation.
          yet the greatness of a whisper is that it is passed on…

                    C.P. Thorp.

wind breathes the whole world to your face

all of it, all

imagine, imagine how that is

because, because it is real, it is

all that is, a catspaw whisper on your ears

it is touching the skin of your face

it is tasting your mouth, the inside of you

it is breathing, you

sahara dusting the sky.  that salt water forest cove that no one
yet has found or mapped.  that oak scrub hill down two blocks
when you were this much tall.  a field of unbound wheat visible
after climbing the western ridge.  that place where there is yet
only your feet for memory.  stone and salt and gulls inside the

your lovers kiss between the sheets.  your lover twenty years ago.
that baby you touched inside its damp eager grasp.

your mothers breath
neil reid
read footnotes about this poem

maybe I’ll remember color

          You can start having strange thoughts in trees.
                    Wolf Erlruch

terra cotta flower pots in grandmother’s bedroom nursery.
then a grilled cheese sandwich carried to me on a plate.

then the sea, every shade of everything other than blue.
although it wasn’t color, it was down deep I remember,

how you roll with the breathing pulse of water over rocks.

then me a salt fish and no memory of me above the waterline.
then an anemone thirsting for touch.

then pie, easy to redraw in single thought.
apples, peaches, both telling the truth.

then snails blooming from the shrub, here
beside the bench where I linger at dawn.

how arms and legs are akin more to roots than limbs.
how faces behave like rain.

memory is only another moment of now itself.
like tides, I go where water says.

or maybe the texture of dusty skin
or that scent native only to you.
maybe I’ll remember color when
maybe color will say my name
neil reid
read footnotes about this poem


to the person who breathes the same air as me,
to the person whose feet know the same floor as me,
to the person whose fingers visit the same cabinets
and drawers as me.

to she who opens the refrigerator door,
to she who shares the butter dish with me,
to she who cooks and cleans the pots and pans,
the same as me.

to she who lays beside me in bed each night.
to she who sleeps and wakes and sleeps and wakes
beside me in bed each night.

to the one who hates driving to the hospital in the
late dark of that same night, but who does anyway.

to she who lives on the spiral arms of my compass.

and when night makes a pillow of the sky,
it’s not about solitude, it’s about gratitude.

for she whose dawn caress leans false dreams
to easy rest.

my colors pale without you remembering.

neil reid

where poems come from

maybe a good idea will fall out of the sky
and land on my head.

sky knows many words and listens to all
that’s ever said.

wind spreads far, repeating, repeating
what was said.

I take these as gift to pass along.
maybe a single phrase will materialize,
then I go looking for more kin.   by name,
by deed, by glad happenstance.
maybe from your lips or your fingertips.

maybe you’ll say or write something that
teases my ear.   I’ll welcome it into my home,
give it food, see if it wants to curl into my lap.

your words are as good or better than mine
and besides, we share everything, earth and
air and water.   and words.
neil reid
read footnotes about this poem