bodies

these hands, second page

these hands would be humble touching you.
 
these hands keep few secrets, like mirrors don’t.

red for my heart.   luminous where stars are inside.

these hands are a map.   all the sacred terrain, grown to this.

they have guided sails into wind.   have given up coins when asked.

have rowed a boat.   have been fish in the sea.

have felt water and wind and earth and sky.

they have scribbled poems on yellow paper.

these hands will find their way in the dark.

have held a dying mother’s hand.   not sad.

they will guide you home.   again.

these hands wrote their own history, so they say.

these hands have a mother and a father.

pockets.   maybe that’s where I put them last.

they are the hands I have earned.

scraped, bruised, made to bleed, nearly broken.

they’ve met forever several times.

         then you came along.   rivers do bend.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

I’ve assumed I’m doing this wrong

        was I wrong.
 
 
for a long breath of life.   living like
nothing matters.   especially the root,
        meaning me.

what compass bearing is that choice.
some say first question really is.
        eyes closed.   eyes open.
clouds broken, language shapes itself.
 
 
I am not a question of pretty, not pretty.
I am not a question of smart, not smart.
is this good heart.   not soundlessly asleep.
        trustworthy.

not a matter of wise, not wise.
yellow daffodils begin to bloom in the garden.
but it got cold again, so now they’re hesitant.
        blossoms aren’t about time.

        blossoms are about, here I am.   this is me.
        see the difference.

how much is language a raft.   what’s connecting.
        generosity, acceptance, compassion, hunger,
        thirst.   leaning the other way from indifference.
        expression, a place to roost any day of the week.

like otters in the sea.   being afloat.
being companion.   grace arrives.

in all the universe nothing matches the sense of touching you,
nothing.   kin of a thousand choices.   you move with my
        fingertips.   life, it’s true.
 
 
I’ve thought to be wise about not being here.
I mean, what we call alive.   no rules apply.
        although,

one might make for greater ease.   let go.

consider.   maybe dead is still some thing.
does a rock feel any the less for being a rock.
 
 
imagine we’re both wrong.
imagine there’s another life.
        side by side, past, future, whensoever.
        you choose.
imagine this is that one speaking to you.

        beloved.

that’s the message.   is that enough.
 
 
nothing has just one answer anymore.
if I have to choose, I choose everything.
 
 

    yet in ending there is one shadow kept,
    this measure a mystery, one shy ounce thus
    make tomorrow more bright than regret.

 
 
 
 
 
 

my hands have always been a source of mischief

tearing things apart.   unneedfully.

rubbing things the wrong way round.

being the instrument of their own hurt.

happy tales included being shy.

        negative space, I suppose.

sculling in place.   be the better heart.
 
 
there’s always a second start.   again.

a bowl leaps into my lap.   well, one leg.

        well, might have been a cat.
 
 
by these palms no outside harm arrives.

palms splayed.   one handprint wide,

        a fallen leaf.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

gravity because


gravity loves.   each and every one

       of us.    no hesitation.

gravity makes earth breathing.

gravity guides waters into the sea.

gravity teaches ocean how to make legs.

gravity walks then floats then flies.

gravity joins earth and sea.

gravity navigates inside doors.

gravity sees almost forever.

gravity smiles when listening.

gravity lets you know how tall you are.

gravity sleeps with you when your eyes

       are closed.

gravity knows the word, embrace.
 
 
gravity and I are close friends.

like a shadow is.   you know.

sewn together at the heels.
 
 
a perfect thread.

 
 
 
 
 
 : )
 

better eyes illuminate

it’s possible for past tense to approach this way.

this is how water looks in my dream.   (except it moves)

I take comfort when I see the ocean in the middle of dark night.   no reason why.   but I do.   maybe that’s how it will be when my eyes are closed.   so they say.   and my wish.   for the water, and for you.   meanwhile, me listening.

remembering is my gift to you.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
MBA webcam views of Monterey Bay used with permission.
please visit and/or support the Monterey Bay Aquarium.   
they make the ocean more alive.   us too.

please do enlarge the header image.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 

floatation


      what makes me who I am.

I love this motion, approaching you.   unchanging,
      my dear heart.   standing still.

your feathers like wheat stubble on your skin.   here
      I lay down, no more thought.   gratitude.
 
      you nourish me.
 
sweetness, how my feet know the touch of you.
      nothing comforts me more.

one thumb can say it all.   new language, here
      you teach to me.   whisper me.

      raining me.   head over heels.

I tumble.   then here I am, this close to you.

you make me real.   like sky.   I am filled.

embracing me.
 
 
 
 
 
image:   via Bridgette Tales, 52 Photo Challenge, Week 8 – Negative Space,
        and used with her kind permission.    please click image to enlarge.
 
 
 
 
 
yes, more like water than you might think.   (patience please)

AMA – a short film by Julie Gautier
 
 
 
 
 
 

analytic geometry and calculus

curiosity

 
 
I know who told me to turn the radio down or to take the garbage out to the trash.   I know who told me what they want at the grocery store.

I know what the weatherman said.   what to wear that day.

I even remember scratches of what they said in school way way back then.
analytic geometry and calculus, for one.   I was proud of that, even though all I could remember was the name.

       but here’s a question.
 
 
who told the atoms how to dance?

       are they happy, do you think.
 
 

 
 

HRP32A 40 Inch Liquid Hydrogen Bubble Chamber, SLAC

 
images: a) bubble chamber image of atomic particles, b) hydrogen atom,
c) SLAC bubble chamber.

science folk are very clever folks.   SLAC, Stanford Linear Accelerator Center, Palo Alto, California.   a bubble chamber is a bathtub-like device filled with liquid hydrogen kept under pressure so it won’t boil away.   high-energy particles are then fired into the chamber where they can interact with the hydrogen nucleus.   simultaneously the pressure is reduced allowing the particles to leave a trail of boiled gas bubbles in their wake.   cameras take pictures from three points of view to later be able to calculate the three-dimensional path of each particle.   the chamber is repressurized, ready for the next event.   then the physicists go away and ponder what was seen.   I’m no physicist but I did work there for several years doing the grunt work to categorize and measure the millions of images produced.

think of it as a giant meditation machine.   listening to the universe.
 
 
 
 
 
 

I do the best I can, double spaced

living with the bay

look.   otters I’ve seen, swimming the bay.

who will remember for me when I walk away.

out the window each day.   more fresh.

I remember me.   maybe that was my job all along.
 
 
I likely see what you don’t see.   an easy eye.

I know which dark spots to follow on.   where an otter swims.

they don’t need me holding them up.   but I do, anyway.
 
 
I feel like being underwater.   but the water can’t be seen.

just me, just some sand.   feet kissing where it’s wet.
 
 
write that in the sand.   please.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
MBA webcam views of Monterey Bay used with permission.
please visit and/or support the Monterey Bay Aquarium.   
they make the ocean more alive.   us too.

please do enlarge the header image.
 
 
 
 
 

expressing


 
sweet scent

sweet sound

sweet taste

sweet touch

sweet Light
 
 
 
sweet shape
 
 
 
 
 
sweet gravity
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
sweet sky
 
 
 
 
 

      surrounding embracing breathing in

      no shadows, no lines, no other than me
       
              sweet curve

 
 
 
 
 
 

shell of the sea, shell of Light

          like a feathered shell around this pain, here is it
                 inside outside.   another way of knowing

                 what is so.   this is.
           
           
           
           

                lament, to my shame
                 
                 
                these small tender pleasures,

                food or sleep or wandering inside my room,

                small pleasures to make one life smile.
                 
                 
                why are they not working.

           
           
           
          my heart.   not a broken crack.   an open door,
          letting wind blow both ways.

          as it may so please to do.   enclosed, do you see,

                 meaning.    being embraced.
           
           
           
           
           
          did you think there was any path that did not come to me.

                 so spoke the wind.