retribution

if the river
reversed it's path
and flowed north
instead of south,
i would stand on it's banks
and collect my tears
as they swirled by
on their return trip
from the sea.
then
i would put them in
a little leather purse
and leave them on
your doorstep
for you to trip over
in the morning.

2/3/08

there's no paying the piper
when you cannot sing his tune
he sang completely different lyrics
when he first proffered the spoon
you danced, you sang, you laughed aloud
but dawn came all too soon.....
then small, concave, you went again
to hear the piper croon.
~kate~

untitled

i will never forget your face
shadowed in half-light
at the bar last night
and how you drew back your head
to laugh.
your words
slipped in so easily
--- i never felt their sting.
i will always remember your face
as you paused in neon
by the door
and left off
smiling
when you saw their venom work.
~kate~

ghost words

never listen to the ghost-words
that rise unbidden
just when you think
you've raised your head
and cleansed your heart for the last time.
the love died
thinning out into nothingness
so slowly that you never heard it's last breath...
but the words went out howling
echoing off the emptines,
vowing to return...
i think they never really left.
never listen to the ghost-words
relentless, ugly echoes
from a time when nothing measured up to anything
but you never thought to question the surveyor...
in the end, it was he who came up short.
~kate~

flying geese

"you do not have to be good
you do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
you only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.
tell me about despair, yours, and i will tell you mine.
meanwhile the world goes on.
meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting-
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things."
wild geese - mary oliver

on civilization

dying
was never really the issue....
where do you find death
in the midst of so much motion?
slowing down to look and see
would be a death all it's own,
for if the motion stops
i'm not really certain of what
will be left-
are you?
it seems i have left
small pieces of me
along the way-
erosion was inevitable,
almost desirable,
like dropping ballast
to rise above the storm....
never really certain of
coming down again
after the thunder stilled.
~kate~