During the day
it sits on the counter next to the bowl
of rising dough or the jar of blackberry jam
pretending at being just another ingredient
to leaven my days, sweeten them.
And then at night when
I’ve taken a handful of it and tossed it
up into the dim air of my room
where it splits into a million atoms
sprinkling my sleep with possibilities
fairy dust shards of reflected moon and starlight,
I awake straining toward someone
in a dream who wasn’t really there
lips ajar arms
outstretched in supplication.
I sink then back into pillow shadows
my body relaxing against my will.
Today it will sit near a batch of cookies
and a bowl of lemons
a respite then
and only then.
to the sound of wind in the trees
oh what shapes it will take again
behind closed eyes
and in dreams…
…silent winter night snow
cape on the shoulders of trees
and outcroppings tracks of whatever
creatures weaving in and out between the shadows
no moon to light their way tonight
just stars straining to make an impression
leave a mark
grant a wish
without jar or kettle
or rubber ring
she puts by
songs of bird
hushes of cloud
touches of rain
laps of waves
silences of snow
her shelves full
for my soul’s
Steep is the way to the lookout,
the path worn and spare
to the place that is all sky.
Tiny flowers bloom modestly
between rocks as old
as time itself, as sure.
Birds climb and dip and climb again,
clouds gather at my feet
opaque and full of secrets.
People move beneath them
swirling in a dream wind
silent as snowflakes.
They pass me on the path
acting like they know me
like we all belong.
Perhaps we do in this place
made mostly of sky
and not much else.