breathing through it

 

the year breathes.
inhales in first breath
of the trees,
stoma new opened
by the song of birds
longing for light.

it breathes,
gulps morning
lungfuls of sea mist
and krill dreams,
exhaling mountains
air warm and fragrant
and humming exoskeleton
with uncounted
translucent wings
soft through the hill grass
tossing up estuary sand
back to the sea.

breathes
in daylight and night skies
and the rise and fall of tides,
steady as the breath of the mare
my lungs pushed
hard against their cage
to keep her pace
in the quiet
in the forest.

breathes in the seeds
that wait, grow tall
and fall with the seasons.

breathed his last breath
so slow and soft
like a sigh in the ordinariness
of the grey drizzle afternoon,
then the light turned
and forest birds sang him
to the sky.

respiration inhalation,
inspiration annihilation,
exhilaration exhalation
quietly holding my breath
the world breathes me
still.

the year breathes
in gasps and screams.
in words and sighs and songs.
we are breath.
we are breathed.
we are here.

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planting seeds by the growing moon

don’t speak to me
of inevitability,
don’t plant seeds that grow
unchecked in my mind,
grow rank and wild
where no thing grew
before.
inevitably your words
will find me here
walking morning dewed,
barefoot and thigh deep
amongst this growing,
running waking fingers
through this light
breathing sweetness of blossom
and tang of earth
tasting the berry ripe
inevitability of this fruit.
wanting nothing
but this.

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degrees of separation

driving open window
60k’s an hour
a woman, smoke tainted
exhales on the side of the road
and i 50m later
breathe what she exhaled –
there is no you and in this
we are breath and earth
and water and life.
the same air that moves smooth
across vocal folds
to speak these words,
yesterday last gasped the fish
held fast in in the cormorant’s beak,
this morning sang
sunbird sweet
from the tree
at the edge
of the forest.

IMG_0940

Degree

supplicant

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photograph by tamarisk-ray glogauer

 

let my hands
learn to pray
finger tips and palm
skin to warm pulse skin,
let them learn
postures of love
in this world.
hands that grasp and
lift and shape matter,
let them
carpal metacarpal
phalanges
learn to speak
only love.
let my work
in the world
speak my love.

threadbare

if i am to be
your prayer flag,
cloth blown to the sky
in air thinner than thought
then let my making be true.
let the hands that
make this cloth
spin this thread
know the taste
of soil and sun
and big season rain
in this cotton,
let the making
of my life
the warp and weft
of my living
be strong enough
to hold this prayer,
strong enough to be here
in the wind
with only love
for the world
in my heart.

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