There’s a crack where ice meets the sun
A star open to the temporary
A hole to a cool underworld
I pause in this moment to ponder
My invitation to the party below
And yes, am I tempted
But so do I remember
Qualifications lacking
I am only half blind
Unstable when disconnected from earth
And cannot swim
What are the chances one sweet Sunday
you’re snowshoeing in sun just passing
a girl guide troupe with raised open palms
enchanting Whiskey Jacks to alight
Coastal Range holding their mystic line
Salish Sea shimmers like raindrop diamonds
And you’re hoping these picks hold steady
Save your neck from the icy risk at the rim
You stall as you feel its presence
Silent watcher eyes your stumble through
White stallion in camouflage in plain view
In the corner of the room, a desk
On the corner of the desk, a microwave
On top of the microwave, a coffee pot
There is a lamp
There is a chair
There is a drawer and I slide it open
There are specks of something, marks of age
There is no paper
There is no need now for it I suppose
People shout their words in their own minds
Tap their concerns by rapid thumb code
Release complaints into social media clouds
Fold their lists into threads of like thinkers
Yet a pencil in hand scratches a road map
A fine point pen follows a river of story
A fury may be transformed to understanding
Fire and rant invited to reason, new passage
Some hold steady the significance of tools
Language and words yearn for expression
Without keys our luggage becomes burden
Or too much a mystery to be discovered
Tunnels of discovery dark and foreboding
We invest in explosives ensuring no passage
I light a candle for the Story Man today
Long may his stories linger
In peace may his raven soar
I light a candle for the Story Man today
Someone stirs Poet
imagining her a steamy soup made from river water
He only need stir and wait stir and wait
Boiling sends germs skyward
or so Someone has come to believe
Chains without locks unsteady his focus
but the jingling is comforting, a burden endured willingly for the prize
Red-winged blackbird alights in the hemlock’s shade
his song urging shuffling, then a reluctant stumble of a dance step
Oh distraction! Someone sways in reverie
disturbing the balance of malcontent
Poet escapes while Someone shakes a wooden spoon
that is not a spoon but a rattle with a song
Someone lifts a heavy head of grey anger
resisting the fragility of whispering clouds
Not yet has awareness opened wide enough
to notice Poet has taken the chains
Not yet Someone notices new lightness
Possibility in steps
One day a week when the sun shines around here I go wandering the hills and streets without warning signs
I hum an old country tune I’m not sure the name of
I might close one eye as I’m stepping to alter my view
Sometimes I walk backwards to see what I’ve left behind
There’s a book stand stuffed with romance I rearrange to make it easier for browsers to choose
Snowdrops grow wild in green ditches
Pencil Notes 