Beamings of a fire parrot

Morning glory:
how you
Hold your light.

Gladiola:
your frightening height.

I’ve no captures,
Of your might.

Sweet bewilder:
Carry my sight.

Solstice

Unwritten and unboring
Thumped on the thumb drum
Silent and unassuming
She's always been the one

Skinned knees over
Broken plastic
Laughter over static
sounds of Silence
Memories over that market
And the public toilets

Hurting to be read
Hurting more to be known
Unwritten
I can tell she edits
After it's published
I can't tell you the words but
My mind tinkers when
It's seen a new; and anyway
It's different and
Before it's noticed
So she thinks
As I do

Swapped paintings
And new beginnings
It was so very
hard to part
Without a picture
So I took one
Anyway

for my father in june

I sent you an email recently, thanking you for being who you've always been after reading a series of confessions from many who are without. I didn't get specific then, but I will now. I owe you everything for having always believed in me, pushing me, instilling the importance of a good stretch. Thank you for always painting me with a different brush, writing me letters, showing me the things you know I'll appreciate, loving my mind, and never running out of advice, (or martinis) to share. Thank you for teaching me to admit when I'm wrong, cry when I'm sad, and laugh until my guts hurt. Thank you for your sentimentality, our talks, our sits, our love of Cat Stevens; Thank you for always trying to understand, even when you don't. I love you.

Watching the house cat
outside in this green,
Pouncing at the dandelions,
Batting at the bees.
He is as young as this heat
but remains unleashed,
He is free in mind,
and able to reach.

She stays sprawled in the Sun
or the shade of the deck,
But she is tied at the back
and attached at the neck.
Is it the knowing of the length
she can crawl?
Does she know she can’t get far at all?

I am like her unless I am
Free to to reign,
To be without clocks
Or a time to claim.
Then i am the one, with less knead
Outdoors, collared without a line
To breach.
I like dandelions but not quite bees,
I’m not totally endless,
but I’m certainly unleashed.

How

it always hurt to know i was written

but now it hurts to not be read at all

but now in harsh, human construct

of communication and the way she pushed

me to the ground I've always stood on

under the hair now holier than i have ever had

I'm okay here, and

I'll see Her sometime, and Her too

and somehow triangles form from a single

dot and

and I'm not even sure how they happen

at all