early spring poems

Dreaming of bulbs in winter

Soon it will be spring.
I dream of seeds, flowers, green leaves
I think about the bulbs, always

a surprise after their forgotten placement
their shy emergence from the warmth
of darkness into the naked light

when the weather turns and we
are without coats, they will stretch, and
before it gets too hot, they will die

But their death is only the beginning
of the cycle leading to rebirth, year after
year, they allow me to remember.


Shedding winter

I find him in the darkness, in the damp
desire of night, body pressed against body

we breathe each other in, skin and hair
hands and fingers and mouth, we move slowly

savoring the touch of each others warmth
under the chilly mist from the swirling tide

salt stings our lips, clinging to surface skin
and we explore each other, delighting in

the senses, finding pure pleasure in this
reawakening – shedding winter, as the world

shyly emerges from its dormant house and
turns its face towards the brightening sky.


Still, Here

Mariko sits with her legs crossed
back straight, chest lifted, eyes
closed. She reminds us to return
always to breath, inhale, exhale

She turns up her hands, placing
one on each knee, and tells us the
folk wisdom that palms upturned
are receptive to gifts from the gods

Following her movement, I try
but my hands resist, they are used
to grasping, to clutching, to holding
on so tightly, afraid to let go

Slowly, each palm unfolds like an
early spring flower, outstretched
vulnerable and wanting, the whole
of my heart beats wildly yes

until I am no longer I. Each breath
is shared by the universe, cosmic
energy, all are one in the fabric of
time and space and energy

opening my eyes again, I return
to my body, my legs and arms and
hands. My mind blinks in the soft
light, and I am (still, here)



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