the weave and wander

jewels of tears in my eyes
as the song of morning singers
floats up sweet and lulling
from the low road up to my tent
where i stretch into awakened states
_______
confluence
jenny says

her red rain-coated arm on my cotton-shirted one
during the weave and wander of morning song circle
i wake to the light and the beauty around me
i wake to the light and say so glad you found me
in reference to the single molecule of coyote canyon water

that might still be carried inside each of us
reuniting
_______
my job
jennifer m. says

in the main lodge as breakfast is wrapping up
is to crack people’s hearts open
in a useful way
(about her performance work)
_______
they say that music makes it light up
like a christmas tree aimee says
talking to those of us seated in chairs in the huge circle around her
about scans of brain activity
_______
hearing is one of the last things to go –
we send them/the music carries them
says someone who’s in a choir that
sings for people in hospice
_______
when russia was “everything must be in russian”
everything was regulated but the children’s theater,
because it wasn’t seen as significant,
so that’s where the artists flocked.
music tells us what’s coming.
aimee shares about peter sellars and the cambodia artists
and a film called the singing revolution
_______
looks like maiden hair
i say of the fern

in the bouquet tied with a long piece of grass
that jenny hands me in response to the
secret note of keeping anza borrego alive
_______
close to home, sky/clouds doing its pastel thing
and the deer stock-still in the road
that at first registers as a coyote
but upon approaching
reveals itself as the smallest deer i have ever seen
looking like a statue of itself until
breaking off into a field in spring-sproingy jumps
knobby kneed and almost wobbling
_______

sunshine sunshine lifted from the i want to sing song
as a joke for when everything is not ok
but one is pretending it is,
or trying to make it ok by singing this line
_______

the phenomenon of how everything
after this weekend becomes a song
played in three parts
_______
the oaks on slaters hill,
the trees down the road,
the yard and gardens all filled with fireflies
and then there’s the orange half-moon sinking into the western horizon
i don’t want to say the fireflies look like a laser light show
because fireflies came first
and laser light show feels like a profanity

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Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

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