there is love
we cross oceans or continents
to meet, finally
& love we stumble over
sleeping in doorways
comfortable, familiar
the magic in it is not so much
where it is found, or how
but where we let it lead
& wherever that is
i want to go there with you
if beauty is in the breaking down
& the taking up of matter,
growth/decay intimately twined
into this weave, our fabric
unraveled & reknit
if death is the beginning journey
both becoming & unbecoming,
let something live sing & thread
through these bones
***more lines inspired by The Fountain.
LOVE.
She kept the sugar water full.
Each day checking the level
of liquid in the feeder.
The ghost waited each day
beneath the tree, each moment
in her presence a treasure.
A day, more or less, is not so much
when waiting for ones love to return.
But, the dead measure time by the
slow motion beat of hummingbird wings.
Each day an eternity awaiting
precious moments of bliss.
it is october, mostly fallen
& still falling
and i already see the after
the anticipation of spring
but before that first step
climbing March is dreamed,
i rake leaves before wind takes them
where empty things go
what falls now nourishes later
& I dig to feed what isn’t planted yet,
turning over hope
the flips & turns those tongues curl
to shape words/hit a spin
leave me reeling
& dazzled–
that’s why talk is cheap.
it is fast & shiny
& does not wear well;
quickly-sewn seams split
under pressure.
rhetoric twists perception
until sheep salivate like wolves
& wolves bleat & wear wool
but still smell of dog–
we won’t know which is which
until we see teeth
& by then
we are already bitten
i love the tannins of october,
how they shade air sepia
with the blandness of oak leaves
always the last to fall
and seeping beige into everything
the way my grandmother
dyed doilies in coffee or tea,
soaked just long enough to match the stain
mostly fallen now, leaves still cling to color
though now they move into yellows and browns,
the glowing reds and oranges
hissed out in the rain like the fire they mimic
and i still burn
when you taste sap
from such a tree
as this, rooted in myth
sap whiter than the milk
your mother made
& sweet
there will be no banishment–
it does not fruit that promise
the serpent tempted with
when you bleed
you will bleed flowers,
& though you will learn things
you will not die, you will live
you will live forever
mute and blooming
***inspired by The Fountain, the last scene of which I had to look up for Jeremy; another poem in film.
Susan Daniels Poetry 