Midwinter in the Forest
solstice rain rouses sleepy earth
from winter dreams --
forest floor pores sodden,
oozing droplets
slipping into streams;
stubbly sedge stretches lazily
into hazy sky
as mute sun filters
through stirring sugar pines --
sparking shimmer in stunted shoots,
singed by the death of winter;
our wakening world
lit in the glitter dazzle
of a thousand silver sequins.
Sit Silent
Sit silent.
Sneak between fleshy folds
of this murky night
and fasten your listening
to the beat of your breath.
Sit still
with your broken confidence.
As a wolf with a blistered paw,
you rock him in your lap
until he dozes and snores away his ills.
Allow the death of silence
to devour your devils; rip into
their muscles with eager fangs,
a grand demolition
with teeth and jaws; lip-smacking gusto
and grease at the corners of a glutted grin.
Ravaged, your innards gouged out
like a rotting squash, relieved
of all that was not forged
from your bones or blood.
You rise, lock eyes
with the pale light
of a new moon.
