power beamed in bantam lines

Golden sun
on tree flow of water
birds, my birds 
your sweet undefiled innocence
going about your tiny business
come, come to me
your twitter and peep
knows nothing--
a nothing I could so easily
crawl into
forever.

peep... peep


Forget this unending human weight 
its drag
of living, of dying
what must be done,
what must be said
to think 
and then to fly
not knowing that is what you do--



 Not a swollen tingle of hand,
but a smooth chrome arc of being--
as simple as the way
of her seamless glide
across the play yard--
I could have curled to fit
the whole of my life,
and all I desired to know
into the span of that stride,
her stride--
My precious girl,
so unconcerned
with her beauty
never knowing the boon
of her presence in this world.


My thumb has no feeling
I write like a ghost,
but my nails are lovely & pink...
Lead bow
leaf bough and sway
yellow will drop soon
             marking time.
Then the lean tangle of branches,
 the openned upon expanse 
a browning perspective.



Filament of light
web-thread glinting,
It comes back to this:
           Red is food and blood
red is me bounding
breathing
              blue depths
golden savannahs
chrome flash
           in swirl of blood
the lion's paw
       the filling print
the amber agate
            of his eye
chomp of jaw
          through sinew.


Gold
is my father--
a sweat the scent of orange blossoms
(he knew as a matter of course).
My father's
small man's bravado
stands akimbo. 
In his eyes:
the innocent cruelty of preying beasts
            And power beamed in bantam lines.

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