Fallen Grace

look into my eyes
so you can look
into my soul,
for when I've fallen
from my own
ruthless scrutiny,
my pupils cringe,
my eyelids go limp,
my lashes stroke
the falling tears,
and in that collapse
into a self-made prison,
your eyes
hold me
lift me
and carry me
into the heart
of fallen grace.

Loving Me is Loving You

love me
like you would
love the moon,
waxing and waning
in your eyes,
that always remember
and hold
her fullness
in her impelling darkness
and radiant light;

love me
like you would
love a song,
holding the magic
of the words and the tune,
the canvas and strokes
of a heart
who knows only
how to paint herself
in everything around;

love me
like you would
those faraway clouds,
that come and go
in the vacant blue,
watching them go
where they want to,
in search of a stillness
that they can feel,
only as they move;

love me
like you would
love the earth,
who weaves the sensuous
into the ordinary,
touching everything
with a curiosity and warmth,
feeling the weight of herself
and everything in her
that she gives roots to;

love me
like you would
love a warrior,
fierce and passionate
about a cause
that makes her feel alive in her skin,
where a battle is won
not with a beating of chests,
but with the inexhaustible weapons
of trust, love and unshakable truth;

love me
like you would
love a rose
resting on a sun-drenched morn,
not to be plucked
or tucked away into a pretty vase,
but to be cherished
for her fragrance and gentleness
that you can feel
only when she is amid her thorns;

love me
like you would
love deep secrets,
enticing you into
the growing darkness
where all the adventure lies,
free-falling
into an uncomfortable openness,
just waiting to be unearthed;

love me
like you would
love the universe,
making space
for all that is living,
growing and dying
before your eyes,
spiraling into nothingness
and yet exploding
in a celebration of itself;

love me
like you would
love yourself,
for in that love,
you will include
not only me,
but one who is most valued,
and most cherished -
YOU!

Forest Trails

today,
I don't know why,
but I think of her -
there is a longing
to rest
among the dark pleats
of her silence
and remember home...

the forest has a way
of doing that to me -
trees look like family,
greeting me with a warmth
that I cannot feel here
in my clammy skin,
drawing me into
their haunting depths
like an old repeating dream,
or a particular piece
of a familiar song
drifting along the quiet breeze,
whispering a million stories
of heartbreak and joy,
of all the living and the dying
that they've felt, heard and seen;

the forest has a way
of filling me from afar -
for when I walk the trails
that lead me gently
to her sacred bosom,
I remember what it is like
to be home.

Freedom

wings flutter,
talons retract,
eyes focus, and
passion storms
through every cell,
as I yearn for flight,
but cannot leave
the home
where I grew wings,
for what I have
does not belong
to me,
it made me,
free.