There is a way of breathing
known to those who’ve
walked to the sky on stones and ice
All tagged poetry
There is a way of breathing
known to those who’ve
walked to the sky on stones and ice
In the middle of June, running
my fingers through the tangled vines
of the potted Calibrochoa
If there are wings, let them be strong, dark-burnished as oxidized metal
that was pulled from earth, hardened with fire, spread to the air.
There is a new kind of flora
One less malleable
Though still most likely to endure
Who wouldn’t be a polar bear in the tropics?
A solitary last emperor, an Arctic ambassador
paddling a marionette dance in his own lagoon
With my own jaws,
I chewed off my wings.
They nourished me till
my first eggs were laid.
After the egg was laid you left
God protects it
After time shifts by
God protects it
She is carefully crafted grace,
long legs ready to lope in retreat
when a misstep or hot breath
makes her ears twitch.
We enter the world wailing, fighting for breath.
First breath assaults the skin, offends the body.
Insulted, we weep, unsure we want to be here.
Here, I feel the earthly space
‘God is Great’ reverberating through the mihrab
caressing the wanderer’s solitude
Even in rain’s stinging wind, I
can see a wave of leaves swell
& tumble, like the tide coming in-
to shore with its bits of glamor—
I wait until all earth is quiet
and land falls away,
one side a map
outshining blue light
I want a love that burns the skies
but all you want is to dive deeper
into the ocean.
Stopped at a red light after class; we see Lake Erie.
All the life it holds trembling in its dark, still palm:
the yellow perch, the walleye.