Saturday, June 19, 2010

Magpie 19

maybe pruning is too kind a word
for this cut

one flinch
and the crucial circumcision
becomes the mutilation
of my faith

preserving salt
burns the wounds laid open
so I stare down into empty hands
with heavy shoulders
and agonize at how life came
to this

when the prickle
through numbness comes
is it the green bud
of dreams newborn
or the phantom itch of hope
amputated long ago

if the tender rain is a gift for the unjust
then wash me
come to me healer
sing over me
the song of life resurrected

cut the bonds cinched tight
and beckon me to take up the bed
of my selfishness
and run again

to the place where laughter
dances on my tongue
where frigid expectation
warms in your perfect light
and you and I are in love again

For more Magpie Tales follow this road.

Friday, June 4, 2010


many times have I walked your shore
tentative steps
on unstable sand
the breeze whispering
a Siren's song
for my questioning soul
every thought woven into the rhythmic
of the compassionate undertow
blurring the line between focus
and release
the seductive descent
into lukewarm slumber
and I think
maybe today

but hot verve breathes electric
across my shoulders
as dancing eyes on flushed cheeks
look for me
and words yet unwritten
from creamy pages
summon me

your waves lap my toes
drawing the unfaithful foundation
from beneath me
and in one measured recoil
I know
not today

not today