Lucid Dreaming

I am done
with ghosts
and illusions.

I find the ghosts in my own body
to exorcise with holy waters,
Whose  streams flow
extravagantly
unashamedly
from my secret garden.

I am an illusion
which the sun dissolves
fiercely
when the grey clouds part.

I won't be a ghost to myself,
or an illusion to my own soul.

What make you think I will compete with yours,
or be one for you?

Moon Sight

I remember me
when I look into those long ago memories of us.

I have been lost ever since the way I was lost as a girl,
with no mother- mirror to help me see.

My way of walking to find is wicked
and unreasonably wild;
impossibly moon-drunk under the night sky.

Truth shines its lights but sometimes the darkness of my childish fears,
my need
and the shade of your sudden presence leads me into the long grass.

It is difficult to leave the feel of your warm arms-
and go back,
barefoot,
to the path.

Waterfall meditation

The happy duck is
not the thief of river's song;
pond is bird and stream.

lucid thinking

Sometimes the heaviness
presses in from all sides; from inside.
Moments later the whole sky is open,
and opening me.
Watching and waiting is the secret power
that heals
the subtle and the seen.
The breath, the silken thread which conquers walls of stone.
It is the love of water which holds the pine in the earth,
not it's affection for the soil.

little bird

Little bird flying-
face windward, feathers awry
green nest high above

Sea change

I have played on the magnificent shore
too long.
With my child's feet, small
against the waves
lightly imprinted on the sandy beach.
__________________

Growing heavier
with each sunset,
each sunrise,
burning and soothing in equal measure.

Some days captivated entirely,
unmoving
unafraid
wishful
and alone.

Some nights intoxicated by the stars,
invisible in the night,
silent witness to the gentle, lapping water
annihilated by the raging storms.
____________________

Today,
at this water's edge
I stand.
With adult feet,
sunk deep into the rough earthiness,
calves splashed by the wetness of the sea,
with each step I take,
I touch,
and they touch me.

Fire Burns Through

When the fire burns
the Great Oak Tree,
the Rowan,
or the Yellowwood,

When it burns through-
insiduous at first, scattering small animals
with its smoke,

When it burns through-
a tired, old earth-stalker
settling at the base of the great tree,

When it burns through-
hades-fingers tearing,
tearing through the skin and sinews into the fat flesh

When it burns through-
that tall trunk,
scaling the broad beams like a cat burglar on heat

When it burns through-
the shining sundrop-soaked leaves,
steaming and shriveling into ash

When it burns through-
to the skyward shafts,
splitting their silver selves

When it burns through
and the stationary, ageless beast
crumples,
spiralling finally down, down
into the dirt

When it burns through-
till even the fire dies,

the roots remain,
entombed
in the ancient earth