A Caution

 Warming my hands at this fire

while wearing kerosene gloves;

I've never known how to be

really cautious around love.

My deepest thoughts left unspoken

and never given a name

will persist in silence unbroken

even as I burst into flame.

It's Ok Not to Want the Things You Don't Want

When you hear the squeaking hinge 

of the door of opportunity and feel

office walls are too close

to a cage for comfort--

Listen!

It's ok to push away 

another plate

when you've enjoyed a meal, 

read the fine print and 

walk (or run!)

away from the deal. 

You can have enough.

It isn't only fear of the unknown 

that gets you--

it's the known stuff.

And you can just say "no."

You can just not want things.

You can just know

what you know. 

And your mind can't take you

where your heart

won't go.

Poltergeist

You glide through my mind

like a ghost, passing through 

my walls

and rearranging my

mental furniture. 

Orbs of light disturb the corners

of my thought 

and my dreams seem

to run strangely

hot and cold,

but there's nothing

tangible to hold.

I don't run from this haunting

in my brain--no.

I like to be in whatever place

I find you.

Secret Identity

 I learned no one would save me from myself

but me and decided

there was something I had to be,

and this would not be my

supervillain origin story--

but I still have a secret identity.

The feats of strength like

lifting the weight of my dreams

changed me. 

No cape, just a torch

the Statue of Liberty could not rep.

And dropping it feels like arson.

With great power comes great--

etc.

But no one else has to know that.

My greatest enemy does, though,

and she has been 

burned.

Brown

 The hue of my second sunrise

is brown

like the coffee I try to drown

the last of night's 

half-remembered dreams in,

or the rich soil I plant

the seeds of my 

half-baked schemes in.

Like the darkest amber my

gadfly wings could

be trapped in?

No! Like the softest fur

my trembling soul

could be wrapped in.

If I could only start all my days

in the warm glowing dawn

of his gentle brown gaze.

Absence

 I have been stealing looks at you

but you have stolen my breath

every time--

let's call it even.

Flashes of your radience burn

bright against my shadows

leaving images

so real they stay with me

even in your absence.

I feel you on my shoulder like a bird;

your absence takes up space

with me.

It nearly speaks.

But all I hear is something

like a distant song,

and feel longing.

Smithing

 The key to my heart was lost--

so much had happened before.

It once was left in the door.

It once was kicked onto the floor.

It sat there for days;

no one bothered to pick it up.

it was jammed one time 

the wrong way

and twisted.

The last few times

the key seemed bent,

and my heart resisted.

At long last I went 

and changed the lock. 

It might be a nasty shock--

but next time--

I have learned,

the right to hold this key

will be earned.

The Pious Pilates

 Was his blood even cool

before you dipped in one accusing finger

to paint his character

assassin-red?

And did his self-sacrifice

say nothing to you

of anyone else

that ever bled?

You find the cross

convenient to wear

but watch a fallen man

saying it is

not yours to bear.

You have found your feet

to stand for a lie--

it is the same as

condemning a man to die,

not once,

 but twice.

frozen in death,

destroyed by ice.

You carry nails in your pockets

seeking candidates for Calvary

and wash your hands so publicly. 

Anathema. 

Anathema.

You never-whitened sepulchers,

let the blood stain you

forever.

Revelations

 She told her secret to anything

that would never breathe word

to a soul, because the truth pushed

from her ribs, flooded her throat,

coated her tongue--

but could not be heard 

for all the world.

It was only true. 

She told the moon

and it turned its face and buried

her secret for her 

in the tide.

She told the sun and it 

blushed to hear, and

made fog from the 

morning dew.

She told the stars that were so far away

it would take them forever to hear--

but somehow, they already knew.

And she found herself

telling the God she didn't believe in,

so she could hold her secret

in prayer, at least,

if she could hold him nowhere else.

Faith exists for truths

like these,

when there is nothing 

you can do.

The View from Here

 There is a door

I don't want to close.

Nothing will come of it,

I suppose,

but when I find myself

with little to do

I look through it and 

admire the view.

And every once in a while

a warm breeze

blows through.

Conversationally

 I'm

never knowing just what

I've said

or what you really think;

I'm stuck trying to read

between the lines

written in invisible ink.

I've crossed some boundary,

unaware--

wondering how to get things

square--

or maybe nothing happened at all,

and you don't really care.

Manifesting

 I am moving

the heavens into alignment

but trying to prevent collisions

considering all the futures

created by my decisions,

trying to dream responsibly

about impossible things,

and generally, still

up in the air

about the changes

my dreams bring.

Kintsugi

 I may have mended my cracks

with gold,

but the point was not to shine,

but to mend

the cracks

so that I could be 

refilled.

The shine

is a bonus.

High Priestess

 She raises from her bed

leaving her lover to sleep.

She greets the dawn,

the night behind her.

She is two lions,

one looking behind,

one looking ahead.

She is yesterday, today and tomorrow.

She has the power to be reborn.

She is....

thinking.

Then not thinking, just knowing.

He will awaken when he does

and follow when he will.

Or not.

She is the beginning

and the end of time,

and present

in the Ever Now.

Showing Up

 How are you showing up in the world today?

Intermittently, like misting rain?

Softly retreating, sun in the clouds?

Do you show up with anger,

and is it even the time?

Do you show up at all?

Do you show up when 

you hear the call?

For others?

For yourself?

Come through,

clear and consistent,

be seen.

Be where you are.

It beats being

nowhere at all.

Requiem

 I don't know when she thrashed her last

or gasped in recognition

the end had come,

or even if she did,

but she is gone.

I know the dirt thrown over

her is 

fertile,

because I am here

and I grow.

I will try to

remember her with gentleness,

for she was also

me.

Changes

How do I know

what I cannot change

until I try?

How do I know

what I cannot change

until I try?

How do I know

what I cannot change

until I try? 

I want truth,

not serenity.

I want growth,

not security.

I want challenge,

not stagnancy. 

How do I know

what I cannot change

until I try? 

I want purpose,

not comfort.

I want more,

not less.

I can no longer accept

or expect less for or from myself.

How do I know

what I cannot change

until I try? 

I will not take "no" until I

think about "how" or "why."

There will be changes and

they will be mine.

What if?

 Anxiety starts with "what ifs"--

but dreams start with "what if," too.

and how you end that sentence

is entirely up to you. 

What if things were better? 

What if they already were good--

what if you started off grateful,

and the universe understood?

What if your prayer was preparation

and your mind could do the rest?

What if you woke up each day

knowing you were blessed?

What if you were fully present

and finally awake?

Maybe that's all you need

and all that it would take.

Unheroic Interlude 2

 (First see Unheroic Interlude 1)

Did I introduce myself? No, I started

my saga in media res--

so, here's how I got myself 

in my current mess, I guess.

If I could, I would give you my name

but I left it in another life

in my other pants, to my shame,

in a moment of strife.

I was raised in the shadow of Olympus

a cast-off twig of the family tree--

no titan, no goddess, just a mutt,

if you need any description of me.

She Arises

 In her new skin

flows the underground waters--

the same that flows

in the veins of her father,

an ancestral flood

of history

and also renewal;

the back-and-forth mystery of time,

like the winding of serpents

in her blood.

It all comes back: 

the cloak of invulnerability

made of her weaknesses;

the shining armor

of her raw, sparkling nerve;

the girdle of confidence

made of scars;

the jewels that have 

a thousand glittering flaws;

the sword of discernment

forged in the fire of mistakes;

the words of power

that are uncomfortable truths--

all and always contained

under her skin.

The wasteland is no longer

a land of the dead--

it is a teeming womb of the living,

and she is reborn.

Her love is with her

wherever she goes.