An Ancient Mosaic

She speaks the language of stars,
And blankets the earth with light,
Dotting the landscape with the cosmos.

The wind knows his name, and when
He calls to her she sings
Through the trees. The owls whisper in his ear,
The deer step lightly to his music.

This is an ancient mosaic, a tale told
In tapestries and parchment.
He will find her among groves, and she
Will speak his true name.

Under Construction

I'm a little rough on the eyes of late - I know.
I haven't tasted quite right - and I feel a little prickly.

I could straighten my hair but the wind would just tangle it again.
I could wash my face, but I keep finding the dirt all too quickly.

I have to tear a few things down - I have to build some new foundations. 

These old bricks are messy,
the steel and mortar unstable and needing to find eternal rest.

Please excuse this strange mess you see -
I am under construction. 

Unravelling

These frayed and worn threads bind my life together, knit not like a complex tapestry,
But as a simple stitch - not to decorate, but only to keep the material together.

I tug and play with the loose ends, wondering what would happen if I pulled the threading out.

The threads beg to be retired,
But I still wrap them around my fingers, giving marriage to flesh and cloth.

Am I the seamstress of my own soul, or is there a master weaver?

I feel as though I should unravel - perhaps there is something golden hidden under this old costume,
perhaps nothing at all -

perhaps I will be naked to the world - unbound and new -

and free to try the fashions of a new day. 

Returning

I talk to myself, speaking in symbols and metaphors, hoping there is a part of me
Still able to answer back.  I catch glimpses now and again, of colour, of tones, and the
occasional word that filters through the depths. 
I see water,
I see flowers, and lily pads - and life that surrounds this pool.
I know there are stories here, there is more than I know to see.

I have been away too many summers, and though I fear this place forgets my name,
the water still ripples when I speak.

So I take away these hues of blue and green, I take some message of grief and sorrow.
I take with me the promise of return -

and the hope I will understand these gifts once more. 

a farewell to winter

snow is silent.  felt like a minor chord
on a cold cheek, melting like tears.
this is the last snowfall, the trees whipser the truth,
the earth barely accepts the flakes, giving
winter one more fairytale to tell.

can you hear the song of growth underneath
this frozen land? like an orchestra, a joyful
etude it comes from below,
permeating the heart with warmth and the promise of spring.

dance in the perfect air,
between the end of all and beginning of everything.
these crystals are the saddest violins,
fading to a sigh with the audience.