Haiku fail (March - April)

Even the birds are
lazy. Slow whistlers. The sun
creeps up, yawns pale red yawns
Half dreaming still her cool
blue dreams.
***
Dawn light: dust films patched
screens, cakes in window creases.
Birdsong pours in like water.
***
Scent of hills waking
under blue and lavender.
Down below the cliffs
urgent river gathers up
the slow hooting of a faroff train.
Delivers it, sound only
now, and lonely,
to the slow rolling to
morning shift:
stirs and twitters
rustles, shivers, new
***
Mars red, the ant heaps
wait like bombs. Invisibly
their millions, seething.
***
Joy waddles on fat unsteady
Fearless legs. Lurches into
Each dandelion
Revelation
***
Each tree echoes with
Argument. Birdchat, windchat
April is crammed with
Secrets--a constant spilling
Of thrilling beans--even
The lawnmowers are turning it over
In their low drones:
I've heard (listen!) -- Believe it!
Ringing--receiving--Really!
Incorrigible Spring!
***
Frivolous azalea
shakes out her skirts in lovestruck
thumbthick bees. Such ruffles!
Ridiculous pink!

baby

New grief sat sharp in my mouth
a thinedged stone
or broken glass

it pressed heavy on my throat
i could not swallow

Like a lost tooth
or a sore new wound
i probed it

Scraped it against my tongue until
spit and blood filled my mouth
bitter

until i learned its edges
until its edges (week by week) dissolved
in tears

sometimes i almost forget
grief worn smooth and warm
round and creamy as a pearl

i Tell it now like beads
with prayer, with thanks
this precious sweet small grief

Birth day

Little pearl, little bud, little bird
curled, never hatching

i held you furled and fingerless
in lightless warmth
my bones were singing for you

we had not even wrapped you up
in a name, or names --

I hold you in my dim mind, still,
eyeless--lustrous
contained and secret as a pearl.

We are two stones
within one hand. One blind
pebble. And you sparking
bold faceted

you, named, unfolding
in what brilliant frills
in bright beholding

Not waiting, pearl unfurled
my day for birth--

How does the sky blue

Why does the sky blue, beyond its deep crawling clouds?
Blue, today, a sweet and sobbing trumpet song
Each note royal, brilliant, purpling
Into the next crisp reverberating tone.
Footbone, shinbone: feel the green hill roar
Its echo--blue and gold in its deep
Rocks, its secret bones, beneath its green--
Slow earth echo rings its rocks and pockets
Hums and thrills in ear, in fingerbones,
In ankle, clavicle, in old skull seams--
The hills ringing gold cannot still
Or hold this joy
Outswelling from Your bought, forgiven saints.

Made deep with grief released, with sweet true grief

That swelling sobbing thanks 

Presses their blood against their skin.

Is sung. Unsung, bursts out in fountains. 

Stains the sky:

Purple and crimson, dearly bought--

And flushing pink as cherished as a bride--

And blue! Deep, boundless blue

Spills up, and out. Blue spouts and shouts and flows--
Joy stains the wide sky with its overflow.

Eager, tender, urgent, bold

Presses every fold of space

And spangles stars in it.
Wondering, starkissed, lovestruck--heaven
Trembles. Rings with the glorious meek song.

And see! How beautiful Your chosen bride--

How radiant unveiled. Her loved face shines

And grateful tears--like gems, like stars--

Catch and reflect Your love in sparks of light--
Like stars that sing among the boundless night.

geneva going to bed

Geneva going to bed
is a snail
(curious pause at every book or block)
ooching long inches
Leaves a peanut butter trail

drive

At last, at least, I've arrived
at disgust. These arrogant detours
half listening to You in the
back seat. Driving down
Obstinate Street again
like self willed seventeen.
Finding myself: driving circles
around You around I. My
routes reroute through treason.
Meek here at last: Direct me.
I will not ask to
know the road. To grasp
any moment but this moment.
I'm throwing the gps out of the window.
I'm done with mapquest micromanaging
With en route panicking.
I'm handing over the keys. You
know the road, this
good road.
You drive us:
Let's go home.

spring

Ten, ten, twenty! Ten and
Ten again! Birds
Chirp, burble, trill.
Excoriate! Attack!
From tree to tree
Leaves quiver with their quips
Their quotes, their quills!
It's spring. The bright sky rings with birdchat
Bubbles and gushes
Territorial? Or:
Joy, joy, joy of it!
This whistling exegetical
This twitter - twit - sing
Flight sung and wings unseen
Is doxological -