I am starting to jot down the things running through my head (well, sometimes anyways). They are interesting. I don’t know where they’re going and they surely aren’t ready for prime time but in the past I have discovered that when I find these snippets, later – sometimes years later, they are ready for something more. I guess my mind has to mature enough to understand what the energy wants from me.

No title. No idea where it’s going. But I like it so I’m sharing. And yes, it is meant to be poetry. I can see this being an art/poetry journal type piece when it’s done.

Dee
the rains have come at last and
tiny green things sprout wherever I look, but
wait, some are silver and some are red and
some are black, dead as soon as alive and
I miss you and the feel of you next to me working
the soil, each of us alone but together.
G.

G –
The sun is hot here and things wilt all day but
return during the dark, leaves outstretched. Even
the birds are more active at night, sounds I
have never before heard form the aspens shivering
along the dry creek bed, longing for water. Like you
I feel too alone, each moment a black start exploding.
Dee

Dee
Today I saw a honeybee in the columbine that grows
wherever it wants to: next to roses, under the camelia,
three by the Japanese pine with candle-stick fingers whose name
I can’t recall. Do you remember how the white clover was
once full of them? Yesterday it rained so hard I feared for all
the seedlings. Yet here they are, stretching as if just awakened.
G

G –
Last night I watched a green comet slash the black sky and I was joined
by a coyote too tame for a wild thing and too wild for a tame thing. It
made me think of you when we walked in the redwoods, how you looked
as if you had grown there like some feral fern and I was afraid you would
never leave, having found your true home and perhaps the discovery
of past lives that were too long lost and are now forever found.
Dee