Sunday, November 15, 2009

smoke signals and celebrations

To the sun that woke me this morning with a prayer for grace and patience, I waved a finger in the sky that said- "not today." I'm holding my hand upward as a sign to take a break. I need a moment of silence.

Would the air be so kind as to check for my pulse tonight in my breathing, unconscious sleeping? I sometimes breathe smoke as a signal of fire deep inside, a reminder that there is life in the depths of a forest of trees. See the individuals within a collectivity of shelter giving limbs, those spun through the intentions of spiders and blooming through the broad-back shades of fallen leaves. Send a search party, or learn to read pauses, spaces in between puffs of grey. The blue respite turned dark with the moon, eclipsed by postponed dreams of another.

When is it noon? When does the sky belly house the light of a smile given freely, like the honey bees' overflowing cup of sweet buzzing? Hear the exhale murmur of sparked kindling, popping my ear drums so that my listening speaks volumes around full glasses of everything life-giving.

I've been drawn to energy of similar styles, flying together to the tops of burnt houses, the remnants of charred skeletons that create vantage points of time's progression, visible from feathered bodies, light as the ashes that float like carbonized buoys on air seas, oceans above me. I can drown lakes with the weight of my tears. I did it last night as I heard your words snap my old wooden limb structure. Tree houses are falling from their nails into my stomach.

I didn't mean for this to be a story of decay. The stripping of flesh away from principles of love leaves one feeling naked, brittle, and exposed to the crisp air. But the wind that picks up fans the coals of another year gone by in yellow flashes of smiles stolen by rebellious cells. Bodies attacking themselves like thieves taken away from their own carriages, wheeled into memories to stay before they fade.

I'm learning to let go of material connection. The wish is but a fantasy. I cherish the understanding that comes from simply knowing that you, and others who are siblings to your glow, inhabit the world around me like stars, or pinpricks on the water's skin, a spot reflected on an ocean's tipping wave salutation--hello, good bye.

I recognize your momentary exchange--in light comes, transient like the very breath I exhale into dark grey. At the moment of conception we can celebrate together in the way that we do in midnight reunions. Friendships actualized through subconscious recognition. I see your face transpire in my veins.


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