Sometimes when it is quiet
I wander all the way till wonder
Open the shutters to that quiet place
Where still
The hush-a-bye bright babble
Of familiar
Of wet
Of cool
Of winter waters
Breath held between shaking prayer hands
Trying to find warmth
In grasping at skipping stones
Like lifelines
Like hold onto the brevity before
Like pearls of little lovely, lettered words
Like love
I cut the forest down
Red clay caking calves
Moss climbing straight along the south-sides
Branches breaking, built a house
I called it every word I could find to say
Beautiful
Sat on the rooftop, wandering all the way
To quieter yet
Traced rings of tree trunks under blistered palms
Pausing on the sliver
Where I first spoke my own name
In sweet silly summer-camp cries
In kisses
In snowflake trees
In things after - unspoken, unnamed, unknown
I couldn’t find the word to call it
Nameless, burned it down
Nameless, stitched this melody to my skin
Hoping somebody, somewhere, somehow
Would open their mouths and speak
What I dared not say
Sometimes still, I go,
Where wheels turn too fast for snow
Painting the dark miles with laughter
Playing pretend with things too big to hold,
Like God
Like Ghosts
Like little pieces of promise
Like amens
Drenched in courage-cloaked naivety
A smile in sweet silence
The bridge to where wet boots muddy diner booths
Is still what it was
A warm place
To be still
To be strong
To be broken
To be
So, with the last little lullaby,
Sometimes when it is quiet
I touch where the forest embers have settled so sweet
One hand on the saplings sprung anew
Hear the thrush breath ring again, fill lungs with lilac air
Hand-to-hand, here,
With shining, stony charcoal bones
Draw something reminiscent and new
Call it every word you can find to say,
Beautiful
Beautiful,
Beautiful is the blush
Left here
Watch,
See it paints pastel
Through citrus skies above rooftops
Where I sit and smile and sing
And sometimes wander to wonder
Softly wish well,
Thank you.
