i.

conning the mysteries of the universe

was, from childhood,

always by the light

of the first star on the right...

flying was easy,

you just leaped up

ii.

now lying in bed

on this black-as-black night

comes a far longing

and the monkeymind chatters...

the mother, the daughter, the partner,

the broken down car, dwindling savings

dreams that wait and the weight of care

then like going under water

all i hear is my own breathing

and i wait, being nothing in the stillness...

iii.

loosening the tether of time and place,

feeling my own bareness, my own light

so i lift up my heart and follow it

into the great impossibleness

and fly and fly and fly

and it is so beautiful

so beautiful

iv.

somewhere behind the heart

is the finding place

for being well

and knowing the Good

from there

i.

she said, when we close this world

and open the next
much depends on making soft 

all of the harsh lessons of our life
for our soul's sake

help is always near
ask

ii.

and when i asked

how do i know these things?

she said
how does your tongue know
the contours of your own mouth?

then i asked
but if tonight i could know 

the source of my own spirit
would it be too much... 

she said
how much do you need to know

iii.

i heard small bells 

in a rush of wind

and came to who i am 

the ruella are in the fairy

chaos reigns 

the four o'clocks mock the hour

showing up when 

they damn well please

while the mustangs muck up the la france 

the wilting impatiens are wrist to forehead

faint from heat

even in the shade

as the chile pequins, rigid with delight,

stiffly stick out their little hot red tongues...

standing here in the noisy mess

of my own disarray

i fit right in

and firmly resist the grace that always comes 

in awe of all of this wild abundance

perversely to enjoy 

the wicked invasions of johnson grass

and the proudness of weeds