The Soul in Yellowstone

Tenderly, I look over the face
like a map of the earth. The older one,
who once looked down into my face
as I looked up, grinning.
His little one.

How the years pass like a river.
All the notes of our voices float up as light
and vanish.

You and I sit in our own deep silences.
I hear soulful ringing of the steeple bell,
from somewhere deep in your belly.
I feel pressed to say something,
polite talk of yesterday, however
I cherish the moment.

Your soul may leave us here
empty-handed.

A beautiful agate slipping from the fingers
of mother's hand,
caught in the last of the last sun,

or a few old bones
with their well-loved wrinkled fabric.

I sit with you in silence. Look out the window.
It rains a little. We change the subject,
travel to Yellowstone in the old blue Chevy,
smile at each other in contentment,

watch the wolves begin to weave out
across the meadow.

The Pearl

Oyster ocean washes a pearl out
into our giant hands.

The moon quivers.

She, it is a she, crackles and yawns.

Her skin is loose, like a puppy.

Her eyes are little dark moons.

Her mother, most beautiful vessel,
glistens and glows. Tired. A queen.

Her father bends down
to kiss her mother's lips.

His face is a porch light.

I came in from the field with roots for toes,
and try to stand as a maple would,

branches soft and curving as the wind,
oh, soft May lisp of a breeze,
moves me,

while I remember how to cradle.

The pearl with her eager and sucking mouth
won't let go of my finger.

My heart runs races.

for Charlotte

To the woman who carried me in her ocean,
plucked two stars for my eyes,
brought the moon close to color my skin,
lit the fire to start my heart beating.
Love, oh simple and little flame,
roaring to life.
To the woman who so peacefully and wise
gazes down upon me,
visiting my dreams,
singing me to sleep.