Cat In Flight

Misty blackness sees your eyes,
yellow-green and wide with fear.
Shake your fur of ashes,
lick your blackened paws,
leap through fires red
that smoke and spit
at things shackle-trapped
behind the flames.
For a cat cannot be trapped,
cannot be captive anywhere,
and with singed fur you fly
through the devil's prism'd eye.
The only beast to give you chase,
he with scaly ears, barbed tail,
runs in eagerness of ancient spite,
he, the dog, crashes through the night.
And so the chase continues even here
in this chasm, fire well --
small cat, whispering escape,
and Cerberus, guarder of the gates of Hell.

Dragon

Scaled bat's wings,
harsh jointed as diamond,
circular sweep through the jagged red evening,
over webbed clouds,
across patched stars.
Wings tear razor blade slits in the night,
teeth grip and sift the sun's gold dust.

The smell of gnomes in green spear grass,
flah of terror
in mirror eyes,
then only the smell
of boiled blood, hiss of steam
teeth coral red,
then locust-spread wings.

And the dread crashes on
through gapping white mountains,
devil tailed, lizard skinned,
sidewinder eyed,
blinded by fire,
scarred by the moon,
a troll's tattoos on ice whetted claws.

Respite

Dandelions,
I've come from Hell.
And here I lie, skin blistered white,
to talk with you.
For all the flames
I'm still as wild
as a terrifired doe's
moonlit child,
as field mice running swift along
straight rows of yellow, lashing corn.
Weep with me.
We are alike, flowers and I.
With our feet in Hell,
here we lie
on cool green grass that feels
the wind's rain.
Sleep, with peace from demon cries
if we dare to close our eyes.

Elemental

Pick up pick up your feet and run,
this is the plain, and wide wide
yellow grain grows tall.
Wind blows the grass in waves,
waves of wind and swept-back hair
can feel the time time time
turn it grey.

Waves turn the moon,
drops of grain spray the moon's eyes,
death's eyes, the blink of the eyes
of death, the look look of death --
pounding heels run run and burn,
do not turn.

I turn grey;
slow, grow slow
and kneel on the plain,
and bend like grain,
meet the earth earth,
the feet of the sky,
meet the feet,
where I die.

Turn turn the moon and rain.
I turn to grain.

Wilderness Vision

Stand here,
lonely longing I cannot name,
look out on wilderness all green
and blue and a million yellows and reds
of meadow flowers and birds and sun.
Feel it
grab my heart like a drowning child,
pull me down.
Give anything I ever owned
to never move from this grassy spot,
to lie here picking clover, pulling buttercup petals
into wildly laughing confetti
thrown into the sky.
And let me die.

Never forget
the far-off mountains covered in smoke,
lifting with the drifting breeze.
Always remember
the joy of stillness, standing quiet,
mouth open fish-wide, and gasping for air.
Away from the city, too much purity
to hold in my body, dirty body,
covered with rags and worthlessly small.
Know the longing now,
know it now:
to be part of this vastness -- one flower,
one dragonfly flashing blue-tailed flight,
one frog in the night.

Field Mouse

Sweet clover, ground cover,
world of green and brown, and over
by the spring, the blue of water,
silver minnow, winged-bug watcher,
cricket sings to salamander,
young cat chases green grasshopper;
young cat chases mouse back over
moss, brown leaves, grass and clover,
wild carrot, yarrow, sweet ground cover,
into burrow, down and under,
away from claws and teeth of hunter,
only hearing threats of thunder,
safe.

The Blind Owl

That owl
that site on the perch in the cage at the zoo
is blind.
I know.
I studied his eyes,
as yellow as a tiger's
but useless.
He must fear the night
when the rest of the birds are quiet.
He must call
into the dark
for the hope of a friend,
but the bars cannot reply.
Closed within himself,
he, the fearless night hunter,
must fear.
His eyes shine lifeless
into the dark
without sight.
He knows no time, no sun, no day.
To him it is always night.