wave.

rain soaked. sweat soaked.

tired from the steam and storm. moving my way towards me again. edging closer.

seems like the bucket got itself turned over again. I'm here looking at a bunch of odds and ends. another dance, in the heat of a thick crowd, with good good music this time....i moved even more. even bigger. even with some contact, but no weight. or maybe I rolled over a couple of backs a couple of times. maybe I'll feel it later. or now a little. yes. but, there it is. worth it, i guess. the small dance inside the big dance. the subtle language of the blood or bones. the nuance of a footstep. even cooler in the midst of chaos...to go slow, go in, go deep. watch the thread that begins the thought and quiet the chatter that scatters like birds from a shaken tree. to see old friends, faces...find new ones. to touch my own shy sight and bold moves simultaneously. to watch the little dialogues talking me into the corner. to dance anyway. with the right to be. my heart stirs, pulls the blanket up and rolls over. taking its time. funny how a new me emerges every so often. what happened to those old mes? just like the fire, coming back to an old home, but as a different me. somehow stranger and old friend at once. out of place. out of sorts. almost harder to penetrate the awkwardness, almost easier, like there never was a space. but, there was. sort of a ghost of a ghost, watching the whole strange show. pulled from the patterns and dropped in with something familiar.

path.

and this song that's rising

is for you

as a gratitude

you know, there've been all kinds of goings on inside me, kinda like a crowd of people all hurrying to get somewhere, looking over their shoulders, yawning up to their tippy toes to see over the person next to them, on the lookout, on the edge, looking out for, watching, anticipating......

it's a crowd of hot summer, some exhaust and collapse and lie down in the middle of the sidewalk, others amplify their pacing, some bristle and balk at the brush of a passerby, others reach for something to hold and squeeze too hard or else come up empty handed. it's a tough bunch.

the real truth is, the lot of them are starting to quiet themselves. they're more apt now to curl up on that plushy sofa and dig into a good book or else walk more leisurely off the beaten path, where the trees bend down and dance in the wind. and notice.

move

feeling its time to come back to this. words on a page. getting comfy with the voice again. ahem....is this thing on?

today I feel happy. yes, happy. not because of any one thing, but because of everything. because, I'm here. I'm still here and I mean it. I feel my body. I feel the little surges down my legs that buzz and hum almost to the distraction of discomfort. but. there is vitality and spark that is reclaiming the empty spaces.

I danced again tonight. I haven't danced in months, I think. The way these muscles have been hugging close to the bone has detoured me to other roads. The lumbar speaks. The sacrum squeals. I've been ham strung and waiting. It's been like nothing before. I decide it will not last this way. Pain has its own way to get my attention.

But, I've been listening for a while now and now I'm going to push the edge a bit. I still know that dance is the paradoxical way home. And, there is balance.

Walking through the simmer of another day of the heatwave, my body felt lazy, tired & more inclined to curl up with the rest of the visceral book I'm reading than to actually inhabit my viscera in motion. But, I pushed. I nudged. I walked myself to the invitation.

I danced, shook, trembled, rolled, stretched, reached, spun, paused, breathed....all the little things getting bigger. My back spoke and I rocked back to my heels, listened and slowed then, gradually accelerated again. A dosing of the comeback. the comehome. little by little, bigger by bigger.

It was a prayer. A dialogue. A speak and listen. A sacred gift given and received. Enough to revive my heart with a great helping of humility. Movement is mandatory.

I am covered in sweat and smiling for all the wakings in my heart. When I dance, all the things that have been lodged inside my skin from all the bumping around in the dark, shake loose. I remember something very important about me. I smile. I've been gone a long time and it's good to see you, old friend.

ten

it was summer,

when

all the small things were busy with their singing,

stinging and staying in the center of their own

centripetal spinning and

she went inside out.

told to fold herself into a silence,

she was stars burning out their own brilliance.

autumn never came,

and winter waited like a wise, old moon.

it's summer,

again.

now heat peels back the skin of secrets and

shows the living things hidden under death

and time could care less.

one fist wraps tight around an old fear, the

other expands against contraction,

to stretch into the room:

a noon of plastic helplessness and rage,

black coffee and aspirin,

day after day,

blacking out the sun, calling all things night.

willing sleep to sleep

and fire to founder.

it is time to wake.

wrap your fingers around the pin,

and pull.

she does. and her is and was are set free.

out of fragile skin, sings sharp, dark edges,

glass trembles and shivers into fine dust,

a warp of a scream singes the blind eyes.

what was hers is hers.

and these years later, this rage is ready.

from the center of bone comes a surge, a

swell, a voice reclaimed.

this is a no. this is a never.

this is the distance. this is the hard line.

and after the scorch of this hot season,

rain will fall and the earth will gather in

and listen, listen...

and, finally hear.