I need to mow my lawn,
a sauna sun, a thick air awaits,
as does the grass growing
this way and that like
Einstein's hair.

sweetest gift
raspberries
from his garden

The cat tails are now hale, taller
  than me, with delicate-looking,
long, slender leaves, slowly swaying,
    laborless in the sunlit breeze.

Most wear true green, green, vibrant
  tended golf-course green, yet some
are golden from lack of rain and heat.
  The candle sticks reach up in

mountain pose, with soft-rust,

  brown-orange flowers.

All are layered like leaves of any
  tree, any forest, flower bed, field
of corn.  Life, full of infinite layers.
  Onyx and I are outsiders again.
Last winter we stood within,
  beyond the cat tails, upon the
white ice of mallard pond.

Today she finds something grounded
  within this growing fortress,
her black tail wooshing back and forth.
  I silently watch.  She listens
and smells, smells with a wolf nose.
   "What is in there Onyx?"
  I ask her. She looks up at me
and back at the cat tail forest floor.

  I'd like to stay, float like a she elf
or Indian through the forest.
  But I am neither.
For all my trying, it would be
  like breaking words, a world
of words.

So we walk home, shined upon.
  I feel my skin green, with a sudden
blending of allowing and joy.

Under the gracious sun this afternoon,

trying to outrun approaching thunder 

clouds is futile.  I look up at the sky.
Allowing, accepting would be wiser.
                Rain on me.

Today my house is dark early.

This is what Moon must have felt

without us home.  She has finally

stopped her mournful meowing -
               being alone.

Yes, I am here, but also there,

of Michigan and Minnesota

a duo citizen, an artist mom. 

Sarie can't come over till Sunday.
               I miss Orion. 

             
             And tomorrow?

What will tomorrow bring?
Michael.  Michael of Minnesota

and more.  I smile at the thought of him.
He is a contented citizen of the world,

               the universe.
We're all citizens, awakening consciousness
of the universe.  We just don't know it.
I am of the mind, one day we will.
What will our earth be like then?  

This morning with my Elantra loaded -
suitcase, cds, books, hummus, crackers,
Michigan blueberries, chocolate, water,
and Little Running Horse filling up the back seat -
I drove west following the constant, cheery sun.
I must have tapped together the heals
of my leather bjorn shoes, three times,
because we are home, honey home already,
where the buffalo used to roam,
where a million lakes still layer the land,
and loons are loved.  Minnesota home.

Read the poem again.
Read it when you're happy, he said,
when you are hungry, frustrated,
simply waiting for the train,
during breaks and moments made,
while cooking mushroom stroganoff,
doing dishes and after you've put your feet up.
When your eyes start to close,
open them and read it aloud again.
Say it to your friends, your children,

to your love, between conversations,

drinking a cup of coffee, munching on
dark chocolate covered coffee beans.
Whatever it takes, persist,
persist until you memorize it,
until it becomes your heart,
blood flowing through your veins,
effortless as breathing.

Then write a poem.
Write as the sun goes down, when you wake
in the middle of the night, in the morning
when your room is dark purple,
as birds begin to speak and neighbors sleep,
when you're sitting at a restaurant, sipping a mojito,
between scales on the piano.  Write when
you have a quiet moment, at the art institute,
outside during lunch hour, on the train.
Say it to your friends, your children,

to your love, between conversations.

Whatever it takes, persist,
persist until it flows from your heart,
bleeding words onto paper,
effortless as breathing.

I tried,
limping along
on a tired knee
so I stopped.

Sometimes,
we just need
to swing
with the wind
and sip water.

Especially
when it's
90 degrees!