Pilgrimage: #46: Bedrooms

shared or solitary
a bed
quiet or passionate
a little house for dreams
there we can ride each other
or turn and rest

#45 Whittling for Faith

beneath the skin, the tributary art. Beneath the teeth,

the skull. Inside the sap of resin, regal breath is

captured, stilled; arterial traffic slows,

your skull, weary, rests on its pillow. Daydream seeks

the gritty bite. Head's ache reveals bird crane flight

into the river's heart. Ancient bark, tree art,

skin too thick for feeling, or too thin when peeled

like onion, the memories, a triple layer cake, meringue

of prayer, whipped art. A handsome lightning strike

reveals what faith carves with God's root balls,

and then, sculptures pressed together complete

the puzzle we've been puzzling all these years.

Pilgrimage: 45 Days: Letters

the mailbox large and blue
stands empty
I thrust a few bills
nothing personal
into the maw
nothing of my self
no thought feeling impulse
sent forth in paper
save money to keep
the wolf from the door

#44 Rays of Paper

All light, any light.

Hunters harvesting

what remains before

there is no longer thaw.

Pilgrimage: 44 Days: 11.11.11

numbers align
it is November
the cold we held at arms length
with roses and sunshine
flees before slight rain
dark clouds
days suddenly shortened
the blinding white of the Hunter's Moon
we know Winter is coming
but we believe
words written or breathed
will save us

#43 Work Day

A ring of six women sit laughing together

to stave off exhaustion in the conference room.

Kettle of fish. Barrel of monkeys.

We carry in our blue lunch pails the tales

of the cross over from home into work life

and vice versa.

My daughter has lost her voice but she rises

every morning at 7:16 to dress again.

I dream a murky river. Not cold at dawn when I dash in.

Pilgrimage: #43: Rite

cafés and bars
and tables covered with paper
the gaze inward
the gaze into space
the gaze in search
she is seeking perfection
the right word will free her
the right thought will enlighten her
the right emotion will save her
she is at a loss
for the precise sound
to open the world
and tame it
hearing only the clang of dishes in the sink
orders given
and steam escaping
like hope in the desert