Thursday, August 27, 2009

Glad to be back in my own bed/where I can pull the covers out the way we like it

  • I used to get my ideas from the world/now it feels like I am furnishing ideas at a pace that I can't even control. Tomorrow my children will leave the city. We have been put for a few hours. Our colorful cabin rings with a feeling of peace. It is this which feeds us. The evening storm approaches. We cannot expect to outdistance the weather too. The salmon are running upstream soon and we look to the Fall for some answers. But as long as we've been making art/forty years/ there has never been any realization which could carry us longer than a few hours. The nature of creativity looses the strings which hold people fast in their tracts. We were dancing around the table to oldies and all of a sudden you began to jump on the bed. Salt/smile/flies like undertow and dive. It was time for you to leave for work like you have for so many many years. I wait and pray/answer the phone/cook/sew/review my poems/when I hear the lock open/my heart hits my feet and I receive you/filled with the muscle of fist which envelops me/I drink your salt lips.