Selections from "Shadow Walking,"
Poetry and Shadows . . .
both mysteriously shaded images cast on a surface,
inviting truth to come to light~~
A notorious ocean wind
cleaves through my summer warming,
amusing itself by the rising swells
across my exposed flesh.
I laugh, if for no other reason
than to feign delight with the weather,
embellish the lie of the coastal sun
and host reunion with a memory.
A lone gull calls with his glazed eyes,
sparkling like two polished goblets
against the fire of the sky. And I watch
his curious progression, a ceremony
to the land-locked woes beneath.
We endure, he and I,
into the salmon sunset,
both wildly driven
by our own Pacific pardon
to the battle before:
a notorious ocean wind.
The eucalyptus releases
a pungent flow of tears
after the great storm,
sour overflowing eyes
that have witnessed
the supreme practice
of a scolding season.
I stand amongst fallen branches,
leaves twisted in damp bundles
of bitter defeat, smelling
the blood of their inaptitude
to remain faithful to the larger body.
I mourn with them,
bending to the slant of the wind
and believing the day was well spent,
even in the weight of brooding trees
and broken bearings
her hands are gnarled
like a piece of driftwood
abandoned on the skin
of an ivory shore
little abalone shells
her knuckles, iridescent
vein lines, shining
in the morning sun
I try to focus
on her eyes when she speaks
but there is more
wonder in her knotted digits
more intrigue in the shape
of her hands than
in her soft words