Still me, ruby throat,
encourage corporal silence
to life’s frenzied din.
I’ll trust your watchful
glances to guard us both, and
cultivate a mental
goal of quiescence
is in your thumb-sized shimmer
and your hovering dance
of inspection: if
I settle my mind
enough to calm my body,
you’ll land, then we’ll both find
gifts in the stillness.
Spring’s first buttercups
bobble on her smooth glide’s wake.
Her protective watch creates an otherworld
stable on these mercurial waters, and penetrates
the periphery for violators her young will learn
to know. But not now. Now
they slide along safely on quicksilver
and her ethereal plane of motherhood.
RELOCATED (commissioned piece for Cari Favole)
The “New Dawn” theatre used to stand not far my sister’s house, but was recently torn down to be moved and renamed. In it’s place, she tells me, will go a typical suburban strip mall. As she was driving to work she glanced at the rubble and was struck by the contrast of the beautiful mural still standing among the debris: creativity holding on.