Something is working itself out.  I’d like to say I’m working out a poem but it doesn’t feel like it.  It feels like energy that wants a say in something and I have no idea of the direction so I”m letting it come out.  Perhaps it will be a part of something else.  Who am I to judge when energy comes calling? (if you want a category, we are back at prose poem collage)

Why

When your life is collapsing like the sides of a volcano erupting, do not fear falling apart – Rise – like lava from your center, burst through resisting ceiling of rock and earth and asphalt, fly toward the sky – the pieces will reassemble or not.  What you will have left is something fired like porcelain, translucent and beautiful.

She was a star child, red like the planet that birthed her, magic to anyone she encountered – what they throught they saw was language fit for a siren, a whiff of autumn – leaves and smoke surging toward the great overhead blue.  She was unstoppable – wounds inflicted by self or others ignored and at once healed.

i am made from twinkles of dust
I breathe out fire, breathe in
redwoods and the dark of ocean
at midnight.  i am phosphoresence
crowning waves whipped by wind,
the song of whales echoing
over fathoms – no speech required.
You cannot know me until I
invite you in.

Stone by stone this home is built and I will allow no one to tear it down.

The house rose up.  The clouds draped themselves around it in adoration.  Green things grew in the wet mist, encouraged by the sun no one could see.  In the kitchen she sat weaving yarn in and out of a webbed canvass, not counting stitches, creating by intuition.  A needle prick brought red blood that lifted itself from inside her thumb, the thrum of pain like pebbles spit into the air smacking into soft places.  She carried on the crewel, a meditation on why.

The wasp caught between window and screen believes it can see freedom if only it could find its way, watches pebbles and stones and rocks suspended as if in a dream.