An aging cobbler
Seeking ‘mongst the trees
Heard a nightingale
Warbling on the breeze
And paused
To think of kin and fields afar
Before pointing out
Her nest to Evenstar
“Hark, how she bravely singing flies
To fledge her blood
From warring skies”
Then took once more
To finding where I landed
An immigrant
Who well could understand it

--

--

Her mother would leave
So Ivy grew roots
Moved by the gentler joys
Of making home
Where she’d been planted
On society’s edges
She did not climb
Yet still entwined
Her growing braid
To wash away
The writing on their walls
With her beliefs in kindness
Doing the work
Others deemed lowly
An understated scion
Who saved everything
To quilt
Into her legacy
Of love

--

--

I was already cold
And spent
The winter I took up mining
Desperately seeking
Profound riches
Buried deep in my sorrow

Depth, the change
Chosen
Exchanged
For light forgotten
Warmth replaced
By the ache
Of veins that snaked
Down the arms of my striking past
Until hope, my axe
Was dropped, dull as ash
And less enduring

Grief, my grave
That shaft, the place
Where I expired
To kindle compassion
A lantern’s action
More luminous and inspired
Let me look to sky
To discover why
My diamonds
Had been there
All along

--

--

I am empty to be filled
A cracked vessel
That has grown to hold
In veins of gold
All that has been lost
Not afraid of depth
But gravity
A freefall
To finality
Of this moment’s cherished embrace
This bittersweet taste
Of my living imperfection
The gilded richness
Of your compassion
For how I am held together
With love

--

--

We, the people, thus believe
The roof of heaven must now be leaved
After the storm
Hence, why we grieve
The sund’ring in
Shubenacadie
So oft sentinel
Beside the lines
Of migrating geese, and bass, and times
And streams of cars and trucks revealed
While standing lonely in its field
Why grieve a tree
When aged homes were swept to sea?
Because it died
As commodity
When we have always seen
In it
Something more

--

--

Fiona raged
To sweep away
Their justice served en masse
Left us powerless
Like any mother’s barren daughter
Eye of fury for the slaughter
Of truths
She could not wash away
Her wrath, a path to grace,
For trees felled
Their heads bowed down
O’er turned earth
No sun could dry
Her endless tears and wail
Decried
All stop
And listen
To those left grieving
In their wake

--

--

I see your weakness
Having gained six eyes
In weaving this world
In shame
My newfound name
Hung from a tapestry of truth
As sole instinct to youth
Who, else, deny
My ghastly hold on life

These silken threads
Warnings
That shroud your end
Yet, deaf as touch
I am
That you might know your place
On paths best left untrod
Lest you forget the gods
Who, too soon,
Will recall you

--

--