Hive - 2017

A natural inclination 

Perhaps the manner exhibited
by those who’ve lost
is the grace I admire most.
There are beings at either
end of the threads of life
keeping them supple, taut. 

It’s said the Clotho
with her sisters
hold the precious flax. 

I feel it
trembling, now and again,
how Dante loved Beatrice 

how a winter
mist loves open fields
how birds are drawn to branches

how rain and leaves
are called to earth
how light is moved to travel

how distances reach
out to be near
how the hum of love
pulls at loss
buried in the chest

and how these verses burst
forth like grey-rain clouds
calling down
to rain already fallen

Come back…

A long press 

This tenderness
pressing from within…
as if she wore sun-drenched hair
scented by the sea. 

Here, she says, lets lay our blanket down.
And open to the sun we’ll shower tears long-held
dissolve the granite walls
sink them in the sand.

Press.  Warm.  Close.  She says
collide your days, your nights with mine.
Like chimes in wind, we’ll bind the broken chords
and leave the songs to chance.

Zoya of St. Petersburg

At night
in a god-forsaken, bestial time
a mother sent her daughter out
to fetch a bag of oats. 

The coroner for the city
wretched city of siege
was keeper of the horses
for funeral processions. 

In Zoya’s young, romantic eyes
his face was O so handsome
while to her mother’s frightened gaze
his eyes had seen too much.                                  

Zoya, bag of oats in hand
Zoya by herself
homeward ran across the darkened
squares and vacant lots. 

And reciting to herself
her dearest Russian verse
Puskin kept her safe
Akhmatova lit her way… 

Zoya, Zoya, tender girl
How your footsteps clatter!
Zoya, Zoya, tender girl
I’m following your manner.

Into the dark unceasing 

Here, lets gather up the bits
the chunks of suffering – yours and mine
those from the lives of others… 

What shall we make of them?
How shall we carry them?
Stuffed in boots, back pockets?
Bury them deep, far beneath
a stone at the back of the heart? 

Given the choice, I’d make of them myrrh
pierce them with a wick
then crowned with the light of a sapphire flame
give their scent to the dark.

And sing.