[Autumn’s Thaw / Chris Otto, October 2012]
The masses have resumed their
huddling:
cheeks and leaves blush
just before the storm, the fall,
the final curtain
cheeks and leaves blush
just before the storm, the fall,
the final curtain
tangled up in brittle naked branches,
we can finally say what we mean
speaking, breathing steam;
from our frostbitten lungs our song is sung…
we can finally say what we mean
speaking, breathing steam;
from our frostbitten lungs our song is sung…
there is nothing new, nothing else
to know
but love and sun, and me and you
have budded, bloomed, and taken root
in the heat of the day the doubt the drought,
but love and sun, and me and you
have budded, bloomed, and taken root
in the heat of the day the doubt the drought,
the hunger, and the thirst,
the days turned to weeks-months-years
of whispering-listening-shivering to keep warm
in the hibernation of speculation.
the days turned to weeks-months-years
of whispering-listening-shivering to keep warm
in the hibernation of speculation.
I feel every word
you speak. each. heart. beat.
radiates through my flesh,
a fresh thaw to spite the snow—
radiates through my flesh,
a fresh thaw to spite the snow—
a lightning fire runs fingers over
me
finding scars to heal, to burn, until I'm pure!
finding scars to heal, to burn, until I'm pure!
[Quiet Waves / September 2011]
God’s
Breath
Moves down from mountains
Heavy and soft
Speaking in tongues
Rain on trampled grass
Thick fog among leaves.
There are no words
Audible
Or calculations
Etched here by crippled hands
No—
But some dare to sleep
While the river flows on.
Frayed questions
Swirl away
From
An anchored ship
Listening
For
Quiet waves in the tide.
I had come this far when
A rustle of leaves revealed
Your amber eyes
Behind the brambles and brush,
And after an infinite moment,
You stood beside me
Silently wild,
Gracefully Bold.
As the silhouettes of dogwood & tamarack
Reached into the diamond twilight,
We raised our lanterns against the night
Bravely we have
Stepped onto the narrow path—
Every breath the destination—
Leaving if behind,
Waiting for the when.
We have come this far.
[Settlers / February 2011]
I have practiced
perfected
my stride my walk my talk
rainy streets strolled
windy mountains mastered
sunny forests foraged
digested
by animal teeth animal guts
claws and paws and jaws
raw red meat right off the bone
a good day a good way to die
until late night lights go out
reflected
from a sky too bright to hunt by
while the telephone curls up mute
like the city's lips, just like your lips
your hands your eyes
not defiant not antagonist
but gracefully blank
as if nothing in this world
ever had anything to do
with me.
[Archives]
