The Red Tree

He never wanted kids
too much work

He chose to make the best of
long weekends
eat well
relish a calendar
void of birthdays
soccer
dental work

Now with eyes going dim
and back a knife
in his ribs
the single mother
next door
lights the last fire

He cannot sleep
for fear that her
child will be hurt

A tree  gone red
shines in color
when leaves
die
but linger a moment
before falling
into the wind

Waking

When death comes close

But keeps on walking

I want to remember 

But forget again

That time is running out

There will always be too little time

to wake up

So I imagine a better place

With an order of my own making

To hide from a world

Over which I have no control

What is not there

Seems so solid so

Enduring

If death lingers in the

Doorway
Watching

I sometimes

Take out the backpack of my spiritual

Assignments and dutifully 

Resume my homework

Seconds tick by

Like wise men bringing gifts

Each brighter than the last

A puzzle piece

Of glory

Pinned to its chest.

I am relieved

And reminded that 

I have little time to wake

Up

Have little time to

Find
Out
Who I really am

To plumb how dislikes

Determine my days

To shine a light on the

Ephemera

That keep me from

The white hot wire

Of knowing

With the comfort 

Of my imagined worlds

Stripped away

 

I wake slowly

So that when death comes

Knocking

he will be as welcome as

The rest.

Sonoran Baptism

Dear Friends in Other Places

We are still crispy dry 
ripe and ready to explode 
in flame
at the first dry lightning 
or careless butt

Even the Gila River
normally raftable
north of us
is just pools 
and river rock

But we keep going
pretending water will last forever

We found a creek last weekend 
just off the shore of a sky island
a forgotten defile
home of trogon
source of time
and temporality
and we slept on its spring-fed banks

Morning 
found us freezing 
naked
in its last deep pool 
beneath a mossy
waterfall

I want to play hot blues
and sing songs
of redemption
blood reunion
in a dancing mass
for that creosote-soaked
waft just now
soft as a cat's paw
poking at my cheek 

They will come
it said 
those belly dumpers
of hail and sweet rain  
those barbed and twisted
skewers of light
ionized violence

After staying up all night 
watching shooting stars
and listening to fiddle music
I woke to a promise
of cloud
a bass note
a distant concussion
the rushing and imminent
baptism  
teasing
not yet

  

Beginner

Water runs in secret
Under stones
Pooling in utterly dark
Caverns

Like a blessing
It asks nothing
In return

You come to me
At night
With gifts
Beyond dreams

I stumble
A clumsy
Beginner


Infused with hunger
To love
Your broken bones

Pilot Holes

You got pico de gallo
I chipotle

Red peppers
Lime
Fizzy water

On a break
From the remodel
You said
Soy milk
Was Spanish for
Lactating mothers

Lacey panties
Shown above
Your hiking shorts

The doily triangle
There on the small of your back
Suspended by elastic

Like a tiny
Bed sheet
On a clothesline
Lifted by a breath of breeze
It pinned my beating specimen
Of a heart to
The dissection table

I couldn't help but notice
And had to fight the urge
To ask
Or better
To extend
My hungry
Tendrils of fingers

You saw me stare
And shot me
Notice
To keep moving

I went back to work
Measuring pilot holes
For fasteners to hold
Another life

I needed help and your
Hands close enough to touch
As I held loose
Boards in place

Ode to a Sonoran Jojoba

Oba Jojoba

Most lovely helpmeet companion

Succulent soap and hero unsung

How many whales swim free

Because of your gifts of golden oils?

Generous to a fault

A sprung Persephone

Humble and enduring and slightly waxy

A blooming god in the harshness of heat and light

Pear shaped leaves

Turk’s cap of green

You rule the sands

And yield secrets to mortals

Without complaint or repayment

Forgive me when my eyes seek the hawk

Or the track of a lion

Or the glamour of a cereus

It is you

Homespun bloom

Patient continuity

That I come to

In my pain

Of scrapes in need of antiseptic

Of earthly ailments

How could I love you more

Revere your woody arms

Your cloistered roots

Your coffee colored fruit

Your sustaining alchemy?

When I leave the land of the blind

And give up the acting the fool

I will join you

Delighting in the common

The giving

The sacrifice

Of sublime

Modesty 

Together we will learn to

Bow to the sun

To give limbs in harvest

Rising and falling in grace.