Birth

In between
slices of rain
there is
thunder.

Waves of wind
pelt the window –
I howl with it,

a sound from
my blood
as my body
turns against me.

A storm renews
the land,
but first destroys
what stands too tenderly.

In between
slices of rain
there is
birth.

I recently witnessed 18 hours of labor and wow, the elemental brutality of birth came through.

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White Owl

The rain
is falling
on my chest
and my white
feathers.

I feel their
murmur
in the silence
of the night
forest.

I do not
judge them,
do not
wish them
to stop
or stay.

I only am
their drum

watching
from a branch

my eyes
yellow
and round
as the
moon.

Between Breaths

I am held
in the stillness
between breaths

whirls of
change
around me.

I will catch up
later
I think

as the moon
grows full
and illuminates
my face

as the birds
land near
and look for seeds.

I am still
though night
comes

though the wind
lifts my hair
and says

“You are here.”
“You are here.”

I wrote this poem in the Scottish highlands, amidst beautiful hills, forest and lakes.

Travelling

I left my
shoes in Milwaukie
a scarf
in Sudan

in London
I discovered
a prawn allergy
and in Paris
I ate five
croissants.

I am now on a bus
hurtling through
fields
it could be England
and it could be Illinois

field and sky

I bought shoes
and a scarf
and vegetarian lunch
before boarding

Does it matter
where I am going?

field and sky

me

don’t have
names
anyway.

Buffalo and Wolf

The buffalo
the wolves

reintroduced
says Man

but we do not
control

the hoofbeats
of the past

which beat again
in red hearts.

We only listen

to the rivers cry
for salmon

we only listen

to the cry
in our blood.

The pounding of bear
shakes
the forest of
our dreams
as great paws run
through them.

We only listen

as the buffalo hoof
presses into the mud

and the wolf-heart
howls
at the
white and ancient
moon.