I rode the night sky

Like a dark wind

And the perfume of my hair

Fell upon the shore

To the wonderment of scavengers

 

Night birds echoed my song

And sailors stirred in their sleep

Lured half-awake

By the lilt of its melody

 

The moon sought to find me

But searched the night in vain

While distant stars mirrored back

The bits of sunlight I had caught

And sprinkled, like fairy dust,

On to the darkened sea

 

I played amid the harbor fogs,

The dews and the mists,

Reveling in their mystery

Welcoming their loneliness

 

Like a dark wind

I rode the night sky

Leaving memory, like driftwood,

Abandoned on the sand

Bound by cables and locks,

drum taut,

defying pain,

denying the softness of tears,

percussive is the voice

of my friend

 

Strapped and bound

as in a flying harness,

held within restricted goals

by the flying cable’s reach,

disguising a fear

-and the anger-

a puppet of fate

tentative of grace

sudden and swift is the dance

of my friend

 

Somewhere

on a day when the sun fell softly

on petals vulnerable in their youth

on a day when the breezes danced lightly

on butterfly wings

on a day when the Earth sped quietly

for an hour or so

on its dizzy journey through space

 

Somewhere, on such a day,

oh, what song was heard,

what vision of freedom seen–

before my friend

caught by a shadow

bound her feet

and her soul

for the needs of others

even as she willed herself to survive

 

The city holds the day

In a hammock

Of mountains and ocean tides,

Measuring the hours

In the rippling of waves,

The sundial shadows of the hills.

The one same morning or evening star

(For Enid)

Like amphibians stranded upon rocks

Standing too long exposed

Above a once deep pond,

We eagerly awaited the words

The poet was spilling like a spring shower

Into the depression of the arena.

Between each poem, in the silence—

Wet and slippery—

We lapped at the startling, clear droplets

Which slid slowly down into our consciousness.

We floated; we swam in the depths

Of the now rain-freshened pool,

Relishing the slip of cool water

Across our dry and sunburned skins.

At last, water-slicked and shivery,

We climbed once more into the sun.

 

She is sad.

 

What should we do?

 

Why take her out, of course,

 

Oh, yes.  We should all send invitations out

To gather her friends about.

 

We should take her out

To someplace where there’s a crowd.

 

But that makes it all so public.

My son locks himself away when he is sad

And refuses to speak to anyone.

 

But she will want to talk it out, you see,

For she is like a bird that flies from flower to flower,

Leaving a life dusting of pollen behind,

As it tips the night’s dew into the flower’s center.

 

Are you sure?

 

I do know what I am talking about.

 

But shouldn’t we let her know

That it’s all right to laugh again, and

That there is still loving and kindness?

 

Of course we should.  We must help her

To find many, many ears to listen—

Even strangers will do…

 

Not with people who cannot know…oh, no.

 

Of course we should.

And when our ears grow weary,

We should take her out

To where the bright lights are

And sunshine and a crowd.

 

Oh, I see now.  When she is sad,

We should take her out

To where there is a crowd.

 

 

 

#girlfriendsday