On the day of first yellow mango
came the prophet in form of grand smiler
He stood glowing as I lay sleep wandering
He bore gifts of bright abundance
songs of camas and white fawn lily fields
Colours luminescent like rainbows
With a voice like a choir of ethereal children
he weaved my comfort blanket of story
painted walls of wonder unfolding the day
You can’t depend on their presence
You cannot summon them with command
Sky faces drift on a time outside of time
They carry messages from places of knowing
Just out of grasp
Speaking a language you’ve yet to learn
Obscured from sight by light step dancers
Sky faces are playful tricksters
They swoop in close
Breath sweet spearmint and clover
On silent wings they glide low and high
Leave you wanting
Promising—-
In time, maybe when you’re older
On some still early morning mist rising
As a new sun spreads life to shivered earth
Sky faces will linger, sip of your offering
Whisper words in the language of your heart
I could have left a note
but it’s windy over there near the bay
You’ll be back before the melting
they remind us every day anyway
I listen to Neve and The Deer Children
sing songs in a language I do not understand
Which path did you choose at the crossroad
I wonder over morning coffee
Where is her other hand you’ll probably ask
when you arrive and find my sign
Why are there no footprints
either coming or going
clarity
contemplate your resurrection path
winds are strong today
avert the fragile makers
empty vessels travel weightless
anchors having all rusted away
your hair obscures your view
yet you see what needs be seen
a blurring
a sign
a single thread
soft speaking from the edge of
a craggy cliff
a hem of your old sweatshirt
Who among us thrives
when one philosophizes
while the other feigns deep listening
Thanks for the adjunct, I said
though to myself not aloud
We were sitting together on a bench
You opining
I half listening
We two half friends
balancing between true life and mediocrity
From where you now stand
Verdant fields appear friendly
You’re ready to leap
I was tapping out a rhythm with my cutlery and my glass
He was sitting on the shady side of the road
I slipped him into a plot where it seemed he belonged
He sat there looking at three hungry dogs searching
I wondered if he was working up to something good or bad
His boots did not look like they’d been walking in the field
I decided he must be waiting on a woman named Gabrielle
He had the gaze of a patient but expectant man
I craned my neck without revealing my serious curiosity
He took off his hat and with one palm smoothed down his dark hair
I started humming to a tune I was strumming in my head
His fingers started twitching like he might be running out of time
I looked up at the waiter who was looking down at me without a smile
and in that flicker of an instant that cowboy vaporized
I tried to finish the story while my fork turned a tasteless meal
He left me there on that sunlit veranda like it was a fair deal
Study the language
What is the first line
When did your understanding begin
How many questions have you asked
Why not
Who are you now
Who were you before
What is the one purpose to which you aspire
The sky delivers notes on a messenger bird
Check your pockets
You may imagine you need a translator
You need only be still
Be
What is the message
What does a sky know anyway
More than I
More than you
A dimensional traveller
A seer
A curator of acts
A promulgator of fate
A harbinger
A collage of beauty and debris
A curtain of velvet and chain
A theatre of death metal and symphony
A canvas for reverence and horror
A chameleon of change and stasis
A prophet of mysterium tremendum
Whose eyes witness this same sky
What message do you send
When you believe no one sees
But the eyes of your intention
What is your métier
Today is the matter
Tomorrow you may know better
Forever soars with tireless wings
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
Pencil Notes 