you

I love it when I'm in a place of joy
and I find you there
not because the moment is less
without you
but because its more

motherless

some daughters
take their mothering where they can get it

the deep shade of the old, silent tree
or long, hot chin- high baths before the drought descended
an extra muffin pressed into your hands by the tea server who always uses your name
communion at the sea edge in a storm
a lullaby of radio, busker, storyteller, birdsong, lover
waking up, being held in your own arms, knowing you will survive- again.

they also know how

firm hands around the face of the frightened pup and nose to nose
the pleasure of feeding deliciousness to guests
staying to sit with the wallflower at a dreadful party
googly eyes at the fretting baby in the shop
3 green kindergarten-pots like an unruly preschool of leaves and petals and stems and roots
money in the hand and a smile on the street

motherless daughters, impossibly alive and loving

alchemy

into the container again
that I love and hate
I dive in and I resist
you seem to join me
for a while
who leaves first?

I see the edges around and beyond
traversing time and self doubt
remembering the truths
dissolved
and reformed
in agony and wholeness

the delight of dying with abandon
until the real and the rote
battle for the crown
precipitation forms
for a while
like a silver morning mist bowing to the yellow sun

shallow memory and long echo
hold and stir
the alembic uncompromising
in fierce love's wisdom

graces

grateful to feel poetry floating to the surface again,
lazily,
metaphor and memory weaving up and away
in place of anxiety

everything speaking in light, full spectrum,
eloquently
silences and those old, familiar scripts
briefly reach me

but the wisdom stream
is medicine for all
unfulfilled intensity
with the grace to hear
the old stories of becoming free.

antonym

I dont know why you try and reach me with words
when all that's left is the echo of what you did
measure for measure
found wanting
which I'll no longer let
you make me

everything was there
for knowing
held back only by fear
which can never be real enough
to be true

and can never be reason enough
to deny choice
to mask desire
to twist absence into an illusion of presence

the morning after

I offered her tea
she offered me her wet cunt
I drank till she came.

high

I wish I could let go on this tightrope
let completely go
loving you so fully
that I am not required
at all
and everybody is free
and whole
moved only by forgiveness
and right remembrance
living by grace dawning and setting