skipping stones

and so you begin the process
threading shedding
skipping stones
how it all works to unearth and strip away
what has come
gone before
the light peels away
the bark and barking
a hush to what shout out
drowned the whispers
a thread wound around fingertips
yarn to self
knitting the chambers
done
undone
done

Come again and bring your friends

There you are again
The two of you:
Barely an 'ear-full'
The duo 'museum'
Peaked peaks
Yolk tipped tails
Bellies full of ash berries
Keep on coming again
And again and again
Be sure to tell your friends
We need them now
More than ever
The caps are melting
Peak your peaks
Message your peeps
Calling all comrades
Light up your wings

Wigging out

Like a handsome hairline
This snow is receding
I'm all blistery inside
But in a good way

boing

the equinox
here
on the 53rd parallel
blanketed
glistening
flakey
tulips daffodils hyacinth
petals tucked in
melting from the eaves
boughs bowing under snow
is it spring where you are?
bright
white
marks the spot
and so we begin

Organ Recital

Larynx

Thymus

Pancreas

Abdomen

Plurae

Fauces

Lungs

Heart

Skin

Sixty-eight to come – give or take one or two …

Govern the humors?

Pull out all the stops.

Fingertips

Little hunts and pecks
Index meandering
Slumbering feline lapped
Purring
Left hand otherwise engaged
Longer
Slower
More deliberate
All in good measure
Ones
Zeroes
Paw pads and digits
Massaging messenging
This last line:
Pure pinky

Trills and thrills

And now they are gone
Returned to the ether
Over the branches the fence
Beyond the breeze
Waxwings
Lighting up the Mountain Ash
Feasting on berries
In flight
On ground
Twittering
Flittering
A band of Bohemians
Tip flips and yellow tails
Off again
A trill
A museum
See you in memory
See you in dreams
See you at the museum

Giving way

Magpies are giving way to robins
Snow is giving way to puddles
Gusts are giving way to breezes
Night is giving way to day
Parkas are giving way to windcheaters
Heaviness is giving way to light
Winter gives way to spring

Swaddling

There is this big sheath of gauze
That I'm spinning under my wing
Right now
Threading weaving knitting
Under brow
It's coming together like a well spoken tale
Told in hushed breath
Feathery whispers
And when it is done this dewey duvet
I am going to fly around late at night
Early morning before dawn
And swaddle us all in the quiet comfort
That comes with sleep
Basted in drool

Tater tucking

Smoothing the kiwi fur
Polishing the Granny Smiths
Tweaking the navels of the Navels
Rustling the paper on the garlic bulbs
Chuffing and sloughing the brussel sprouts
Trimming the fronds on the leeks
And at the end of a long day
Turning to night
Nestling the Yukon Golds, the wee rubies
And russets to bed under burlap
Sleep tight tater tots

the white rhino

the image of you is burned in my heart
hacked attacked bleeding
stumbling weaving
a bullet in your brain
and all for what?
a horn
the substance of finger nails
who did this to you?
who held the blade?
who pulled the trigger?
with those same hands
do they hold their children?
for mercy's sake you were put down
an end to the suffering
damn the acts
damn the trade
an end to the madness
leave the gentle giants in peace

Fluff

Lifting pillows from my lids
And preparing to slip into cloud shoes
Heading out late in the afternoon
The crush of the cush
Under marshmallow skies
And tickled pines
Boughing
Before
After
Through it all

Learning to excel

Double right click
Left clicks and more
Sums auto sums formulae
I think I get it
Mostly I get it but in a pinch
A tweezer
Captain cuddles is snoozing up a small storm
Enough to make me calculate
All the tabulations
The Tabby tabulations
What if sum if?
Totally lost and found
In dreams

fingertip soil

these keys are muddy
grimy and layered
with mutliple spotted strokes
pinky to fore
middle and ring
fair to middlin
short haired tabby remnants too
delete enter shift
return return
always returning to the source
however riddled
tactile and anchored
cheek to cheek
tip to tip
to tip

Museum of ghosts

They were here just yesterday
A lit and lighting up the sky
Flitting on the branches of the mountain ash
Beaks filled with bright red berries
Skittering flittering flying off
A cloud of waxwings ascending
Along the flight path
Feathers into ether
A museum of ghosts
Etched in memory