This is my workshop and storage are, where I rework, rewrite and generally see if I want to change things already published. So this is simply a place to do that, as I don’t keep any of the things posted on this blog on my computer.
Like almost any attic/workshop if is not neat or tidy, it just is. And things will come and go, for that is what happens with things either stored or in the process of being worked on.
I do not let go of the emotion involved in a poem until it is out there and can’t be changed.
However, that letting go allows me to change a few things, a word or phrase I don’t especially like, but since he post is already published it won’t be changed. So this has become my rewrite/play/ experiment page.
I am not claiming the poems are better here, not at all. This allows me to play with, and not have to find them “later”, on my computer.
A January morning/blowing on my fingers to warm them/sun climbs over the Jemez, an ancient cedar.
A birdwatchers’ trail/you loved them beyond reason/your ashes drift, fine as desert sand.
You have gone/where coyote stole the stars/once upon a time, in a different dream.
Time has no meaning/then is now, for a moment. I remember your hand on mine, the softness of your touch.
A cold November morning/blowing on my fingers to warm them/sun climbs over the Jemez, an ancient cedar. / A finch hunting seeds/you loved them beyond reason/your ashes drift, fine as desert sand. / You have gone/where coyote stole the stars/once upon a time in a different dream. All is illusion/past becomes my present. This, our moment. / I feel your hand in mine, the softness of your touch.
Your first step/ and then mine. I promise you, silently,/there are no words to express./We must part, for you step forward as I step back.
Your first step/and then mine/ We love, silently/there are no words to express. / We must part, for you step forward and I step back.
We took leaves of palm/and sewed them, /a lifetime in their joining. / Words of you and I, writ soft upon them.