From the edge of a rail,

Bent over to watch the seagulls
Waiting for fish to be forced into the shore.
I wonder if they catch them unconscious,
If perhaps that is natures form of mercy, of balance.
They don’t often wait like this.. so still,
Only when the reward is worth the risk it takes to fly in one place.
To risk the fall.
The wind is at such highs today the windmills are turned off
lest they too take flight on…

The hummingbird’s wings beat twice as fast as their hearts;
and that makes me think of how..
Even when my heart beats slow enough to sleep,
it is woken by the pulse of my breath when I dream;
The fear of remaining too still in midair,
lest the winds long exhale stops holding me there. 

But A hummingbird’s life depends on flying in one place, 
So easily blown away and still, risks everything to kiss my mother..
I watch her, wanting to seed myself pollen
As her tongue withdraws from the mouth of her blossom, 
Still, and just as vulnerable to show hummingbird
We will take the risk, too.

And so, I lay in one place
Each breath at half my heart rate, finally, I keep up with my dreams. 
As we bloom, I am thankful,
I no longer have to lose any more sleep.
Leaning against the rail, dirt filled cavities, 
Denial no longer running so deep..
I can hear the humming of mothers telling their offspring:
“Birds were not born flying the way fish were born to swim.
Daughters, you were born on the windiest day.”

Hopeless, her children remain empty after a meal of mud pies, 
Unable to make it to steady blooms in time, unable to rest satisfied,
No longer able to bear the weight of the journey they must face..
The slowness of their heartbeat married with the panic of their breath
I then turn to watch my own sisters reach with so much growth left -
This pull from innocence keeping even those who sleep, dreamless..
It was this day in spring, mother told us our truth:

“Loves, you were born with seeds in your throat.
I’ve been churning the soil ever since,
Waiting for the moment you would speak pollen
And float away the same way you came into this life
on the inhale of a hummingbird’s breath.”

From the edge of the rail,
A kiss is planted,
As her tongue withdraws from the mouth of my bloom,
I lay still as my children float pollen..

Wednesday Nov. 4th, 2010.

Place the arches of your feet into the shoes of a widow,
learn what it means to weep 
then lay beneith a weeping willow tree and tell me if you can still see the sky between her branches,
her song beneith her sadness.
we are selfish until we learn that our own red hearts would tear the same under such strain,
we feel unable to grow even though there are days when our bodies fight so hard to be rooted..
when our breath is caught hung up on the cold windows,
longing to join the rain. 
Once a lonely man told me a child is born everytime my heart beats,
with wings in their chests I can hear their hope like the breeze brushing through tall grass.. 
Like bullies taking all their bruises back and reeling out their anguish on the backs of kites held tight by the warm hands of their mothers. 
And for each and every father your daughter is the sun and your sons will try to rise 
from every disapointment they fall down from and yes you will always try to grow their grass so that it’s greener
but there is nothing wrong with yellow patches teach them laughter, and love, 
show them lambs can grow to lions. 
Breathe that onto their skin so that sunlight can grow bright strong bones, firm branches. 
For every child that’s taken it’s first breathe I hope that you grow to believe you are beautiful, 
that you don’t hush the snare drum, bass beat in your chest.
that you love every single brown dirt patch and when you first glimpse a weeping willow, 
remember to tell her how breath-taking she is.. 
then take that breath and lift the kites that those mothers try so desperately to raise up from the ashes, 
Show that lonely man that for others to love him, he must first love himself and if all you can muster is a smile,
then stretch it like the view of a sunrise from the lip of a valley right before you base jump.
Like the arms you stretch around your mother. 
Like the beauty we find when we hold eachother. 
Until every lamb is a lion trees will weep with you, 
and she’ll forgive your patchwork skin, child,
grow her roots through your sole,
open the window and embrace the rain, love.

The way in which I cannot find a way to tell you the kind of love I feel for you is a problem with language,

                              not the love itself.

The part that effects me the most is the sound of your inhale.
Like you’re gasping for more time to say what you’ve been carrying in your lungs your entire life.
All I can do it listen,
focus in.
Your words I know by heart yet still your in breath is new every single time..
A suffix to every verse;
every moment where silence at it’s loudest would still be insufficient in
filling the space between

heartbreak…

and love’s profoundness.