Plumes de Palo Santo
Today carry my worries
Up, up, y away
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Plumes de Palo Santo
Today carry my worries
Up, up, y away
It’s much easier to lie
in the afternoon light,
steady’s the humming
bird that takes flight.
Oh whispering wind
forgive me tonight,
how flirting with death
has been a delight.
Tree lined
suburban, shadowed
street signs
stand aloof
in the quiet morning
daylight gloom
of happy homes
opened doors
and kisses. Questions
fall like flower petals
on sidewalks, cracked
by ancient roots
whose planted hands
can only tell
the difference between
early mornings
and daylights answers.
But the sky is new,
and the desert
Golden, only as old
as the moon which hangs
still as the sun
does rise over broken
glass bottles, which dress
Winnetka, asphalt
like a torn evening gown
come morning.
Everyone I know’s the titles
They just don’t read the words
Writing’s an endless cycle
I start to feel the burn
Sunlight it is healing
Too much can make it worse
Moonlight is revealing
My answer’s questioned first
But who am I to argue
The writing’s on the wall
No pages left to sift through
Like dominoes they fall
Everyone I know’s the titles
They just don’t read the words
This feeling’s infantile
I know not which is worse
Topanga Canyon sunlight
falls gently on my head
The moon hangs in the distance
her eyes blue sky in bed
A squirrel’s picking berries
the tree of life is fed
It’s summer in the valley
there’s no more to be said
Warm sunlight.
Warm coffee.
Warm thoughts,
are enough for me
this morning.
If that’s not you
walking the corner of my eye
then who? I wonder,
who’s shadow unwinds?
Overhead like a compass,
creation of time. Time
and again, like time were a crime.
Wasted. Lost. Forgotten. Blind.
Memories fade, they never die.
So if that flutter of feather is you,
alright that’s fine. It’s much ado.
So when they ask you calmly why
won’t you share yourself with I?
I have and will, see I am I
unanswered we are now defined.
This morning, a sparrow
gnaws at my ear, his absence
is all that I see, while sunlight
casts shadows on tree limbs
I hear, nothing but sparrow clearly
while stillness, and calm
fly all through the air, impressions
a Renoir scene, two sparrow
take wing, like dancers I hear
them tip toe paint gracefully.