analyticstracking
Poetry

The Reasons

I have not had time to write.
Not for the usual reasons-
too much time spent on too little-
but because of the folded curve of lemons,
saxophone haunting the dark water,
birdsong ripening with September.
My steps have trundled all over these rocks
at low tide, searching for Pauas.
My shoots have spread all over these steps;
my path rolls green.

These times of baking, pegging laundry
bathed in sun and wind,
clean spoons,
pumpkin soup,
fresh yogurt rejoicing like a parade,
when the stars tug my hair up
as if to say:
"Notice our lightness, our patterns
in your dark. Sit on the steps and see."

And when I do,
and dusk settles in like love
that suddenly has been there
for awhile-
birds I've never heard
spill out their souls,
trees grow down,
firm in their earth,
and up
dancing slenderly toward the light,
and I
am among them.