Bird singing in the dark

I rise in the full moon and walk across green grass

a  fragment of the acorns goes into my flesh. I awaken a storm of thoughts and twisted banter crushing the sounds of forest creatures, following my steps.

All this comes after silence

Your heart left in the bed and mine crying in the wilderness of my longing for some far away memory when I felt fully the moment of skin and sweat.

All this after twenty years

Bound by words and promises and tortured sorrows shared and laughter in a boat on the water.How often have I looked forward over the bow and known some semblance of peace as the water was like glass and I was aware for a moment the sheer blessedness of you, steering and paddling my boat as I rested.

I am in the dark

The forest trees are swaying in dances of one firmly rooted and unable to break free I decide to tear my night-gown and remember, a bonfire once lit my nakedness as I danced.It was all sensual release to the moon and the longing of my body, once beautiful and strong, now marred with lines traceable and scars of war. I have my memories, and this love that never quite brought the healing I desired in your arms. Love has this dirty little secret, our dreams shift with the changes of our landscape. The heart, once young and light with promise, carries the weight of the longings gone rogue from one human to another. We mark our souls, like dogs mark their yard.

I am listening

A bird is singing, in the dark. Singing when it should be sleeping, like me. I wonder in the moonlight does it despair of morning? Has it lost its one true love, it’s child fallen before it could fly? Why is it singing to me so long into the darkness? I want to soothe it. I want to understand the meaning behind the trill of despair.It gives what is wild and raw to the stars and the moon, just as I have. I begin to sing, under the weight of the stone in my chest, to the maker of the moon. I need to rest.

I lay me down

what is unbound in me. I give you all that I know how to birth. Sweat upon straining sweat I give what is released. We are held by the tender moments, we are held by the gospel chorus, we are held by the dreams of wild and nights of tender. I have given what was unbound in me and that must be enough.


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