Posts Tagged ‘potential’

One Sauvignon




thirsting for wine

surprised to find inside

a vineyard, a barrel, a glass

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Pulling ten thousand

yellow-petalled weeds—

how many more millions

left to pull? How soon

will they be back?

Still, marveling

for a moment

at this small bit of

weedless dirt.

In me, how many

thousands of weeds?

And beneath them,

how many gardens

just waiting to be revealed?



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in every moment

a doorway, but sometimes

the door so small

not even my toe

will fit through

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When I started to fume,

God grabbed me in his arms

impossibly strong and tender

and said, dear one,

don’t build our house too small

and I dropped my hammer

and nails and noticed

how fine the breeze

without walls.

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anything is possible

but only one thing will happen—

tulip blooming on a dandelion stem

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Who’s There?

Before the snow
before the kiss
before the loss
before the hymn
before the fear
before the dust
before the brick
before the hush
there was the rain
that made the world
a glistening place,
there was a girl
who was her dreams
while wide awake
who never thought
of holding back—
sometimes before
the cold spills in
I feel her knock
inside my ribs.

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If I lay here, if I just lay here, will you lay with me and just forget the world.
—Snow Patrol

Like sipping the stars in water,
like hearing the sun in the stone
all the impossibles, all the fantastic
notions are possible now.

Like drinking gray sky in big gulps.
Like song spiraling out of bent wheat
there is improbable joy, my love,
in the imperfect, marred, defeated.

There are shoulds, my dear, and mustn’ts
there are cages we think are ourselves,
but night is here and soon there will be
nothing we can’t have.

But it’s not about the having
not even about the dream.
it’s about, well, darling, I don’t know.
Let’s close our eyes and see.

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in the tiny seed
the scent
of marigold

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Erika on the red mat
tucks her right foot in her groin
and bends forward from the waist

then lowers till she’s hovering
above her left tippy toes.
If you can’t follow

what I’m saying, that’s
because her body’s twisted,
furled and folded as a body seldom is.

But full of grace,
she brings her hands
to meet in prayer in front of her

and for a minute poises there,
a compact bulb with five small roots
and a patient shoot waiting

to push up and through.
It’s beautiful to stand beside
Erika on the red mat

to feel more than see
the rising energy as like
a tulip in the spring

she reaches not just up
but into the quiet balance point
where anything can happen.

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