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.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 

show & tell

taller people are not necessarily smarter.  (although they may feel it’s true)  the yogurt in your bowl don’t see any difference, tall from not.  all it sees is your spoon.

some might wager taller is closer to heaven, or at least closer to the stars.  but that just depends whether you’re looking up or looking down.  who’s closer then!  so, no.

a mountain may be very tall, but mostly what they see to appreciate is looking at their feet.  feet are important to mountains.  it’s where they came from and where they’re headed next.  gravity is the smile they contain.  my daddy was once a Southern mountain, but then he was gone.

mother’s family, they were rocks, big ones.  but there was nobody to tend their opened fields, so they left.  they moved to a land that harvested fewer hard stones than before.  grandmother fed the cats, no matter their size.  it was exactly the way she spoke goodbye to me.

words are shells where someone else used to live.  now we put them in pockets, toss them far as our arms willingly reach on the Water’s face, or, collect them sorted by Color and Shape as if they still belong to someone else other than us.  sometimes we eat them.  but only rarely.

when eaten we become another life.  another life.  another star.  but we’re still the same.  the same as the first thought we thought.  like stars will do.  thoughts shimmer, do you see?

other eyes see us from far far away.  more than ten toes, more than my nose.  I am the I who is looking from here, and this is the sea and where we swim.

2016

composure

the sky is inside a shell,  
earth too and mountains, the least of them.
rivers aswell and oceans and fish and balls
of rice.  all shells.  this chair, this book
I read, the very light in the air.  that hat,
cousin to your brow, also a shell.
pleasing the way our fingertips feel that
texture just below our beaks.  it’s only
that sometimes we forget how fragile the
face, how easily misplaced but then
rain forgives a lot.  and when we awake,
new feather wings, and when we sleep,
sky is all curves.

curving beneath new-made wings.