two's

we all have to return home from however far we love.

 

 

 

There's something to be said about journeys,

when at the end the soul preserves, as sacred,

 

each step of laughter and grace. I always

envision the final blessed state marked by

 

the absence of suffering. A fetish charm,

amulet of juju lettering, when we began,

 

writing love words with kendo swords for the air

then ending by making Katakana circles to the

 

singing seeds of maple. Where each kernel is

borrowed from the lessons of loss; the way

 

you pull your scarf off and point your scent

towards paschal and dew. How else to count

 

an abundant life but by this ornamental edging,

this portmanteau of sparrow and wand?

 

 

Sometimes you just know how s**t is gonna end

in a dark meadow of mushrooms, interstice with

 

new poems, but horribly alone. And yet there's

this place your blue bangs remind me of

 

under which small moles are kept as blemish,

as tuft, sweet zen, that when burst awaken

 

their tender brood and saxifrage like that machine

of saturn springtime that prints out labrum and leaf

 

that tug at the two known fanfares of shadows:

the wink from across the river

 

or the stitching on your hue

at appointed intervals.

Reviews

[Eve]

A hue for every mood and every single one of them think you are a phenomenal writer whose song is so under sung. There are no guarantee's in life, whether it's a mushroom bloomed from a patch of manure or basking in the snow white fields of duty, honor, resistance, futility, who knows? The living comes from finding out :) I'd point my shawl and dew at you any ol' day, you are freaking brilliant. :)

[Shmoke-Sifted Heftlande..]

you're running your fingers along the valley created by mythology and individual consciousness..it could be post or pre-coitus...your apex to and from the middle stanza and re-affirmations and layers are astounding..this poem goes far beyond what the mind can comprehend or appreciate, yet there's no way to get there without the mind. this piece carries religious and historical elements and throws them to the wind and they become the wind and you slice the wind and you understand..IDK wth I'm babbling about but this piece has touched me more deeply cerebrally and otherwise..I guess you have to feel a little more alone to transcend it

[Emily B]

wonderful to sneak a moment to read you

[Tree]

What an incredible piece, dana. Sad and beyond beautiful. I've been sitting on commenting on this for a while because I just wanted to keep reading it. First off, the format you've chosen works seamlessly here with your tone, I like the way the image/thought born into each stanza slips down, into the next. Like those childhood toys from the fifties/sixties where you turn the device around and a steel ball begins to fall through a series of contraptions and trap doors releasing yet another steel ball as they go on/ falling down. just a marvelous write, I think if I flipped this poem over to start the process in reverse I would learn something new: "Intervals appointed at hue your the Or river ..." and so forth, I hope, you get my meaning... In the end dana, for me this has been a deep meditation on permenance/ and impermanence... Thank you