Ode to Blossom

Ode to Blossom

Bold and daring

Perched, adoring

At my right hand

Hand-fed henmaid

Taking berries

Feathered shadow

As I stand

Call her chicken

Scatter kibble

Wait for eggs

That never come

Still, I’m soft

For my lil’ redhead


In the August sun



My great uncle

Was braver than I


To jump heart-first

Into the madness

Of the night abyss

To win freedom

For a Flying Dutchman

Whose son set sail

As his Fata Morgana

For my foreign fate

His ghostly glow

Recalling my mind’s eye

To life

His name

The long-dead prayer on my lips

Answered as

The Canuck

Who saved his kin

By never losing heart

Until sunrise



If I should die
Before day wakes
Know it was nigh
Without thought
For you
But in saving thought
For myself
Not rumination
But compassion
In decision
That I was enough
And endured enough
Had ventured forth
With no promise of arrival
No freedom, save choice
The promise
Of a sunset’s ending
A plan
Finally executed



I am the clutter
This feast for the eyes
With no theme or order
Each object, surprise

I am the dust
Of this dwelling in thought
‘Round ideas, decorations,
‘Though sharp worries, not

I tend those who ‘wait me
While home in this place
Absorbing our secrets
And keeping them safe

As sweetness for futures
We haven’t yet built
Each painting, each pillow,
Each armchair, each quilt



My mind is a fire of fears

My body burning through breaths

Lessons left

On lips

Leaping to life

To tame the flames

Fueled by woulds untasted


To ward against



On preying

When this lithe spirit

Has cause to distinguish

Her brightening courage

From coal-scorched cowardice

In darkness

Her nocturnal tale


Come dawn



Today, I saw myself for the first time when

Life baptized my body invisible



The tears of my insecurities

Swept off my being

Into this pool of disappearance

My unskinned strengths



Enchantments, not enemies

For a journey

I was already on

My imperfections

The crossroads

That brought me here

I wept and sighed at how

Salvation was self-evident

I was more than my fears and loathing

They were clothing

To keep this divinity warm



Why am I most myself

When I lose my self?

A part of the ocean

Not apart from the ocean

Of being


Moved by distant bodies

Changing emotion

My placeless devotion


My cresting thoughts

Unfounded fears


Into troughs

Of meaning

Their loss

No more than

My return

To the source

For what am I

Apart from the whole?





Doer and Dreamer, happy anywhere the snow flies.