Ainu Madonna

Written the day before Easter

White light dreams through

each leaf

each dragonfly wing.

Sophia streams white light

black madonna of the well

virgin of the rocks.

Sunlight opens plum blossoms

warms rock my thighs

we entirely pierced by sunlight:

bear child me.

Their cries bring milk

in starry streams

brimming sweetness

self

bear cub

and baby girl

look into my eyes

as I look into theirs:

tug teat suck

and knead

my breasts jet warm white

streams that pool in

circle of fur curve of belly thighs arms.

We never chose to be

bodies in the milky way–

soft and tender flesh spinning through space

Mother Sophia, black madonna, rock virgin:

So o o o o Fi i i i i a a a a a

Quando você estava morrendo
Os meus pensamentos não eram
Da escuridão da sepultura,
Mas dos seus olhos,
Azuis como o céu,
Mornos como o oceano,
Mãos que acariciam
E coração que ama,
Um filho,
Um irmão,
Marido, pai,
Amante, amigo,
E quando eu morro
Os meus últimos pensamentos vão ser
De você.

***

Whitsuntide
——————————————————————————–

The lights were dying down and we
were in silence
across the fruits and the wines
there was to be a celebration
but now it was all over
and so we were nearly disconsolate
and fumbling
the dew drops on the now frosted sills
were bits and pieces
of expressive grandeur and
I could not be restrained anymore
and let go
my reins: you shrieked and fretted
and fumed but it was winter and soon
new centuries would tumble and fall
from the honest, worthy closets
before you could say Gee!
before it was to wildly be profane
and celebrate the lost cause of lost times

***

Cat’s Tail
——————————————————————————–

Quietly through the streets I creep,
Pawsing to scratch behind my ears or bite a flea.
What’s that? Darting left, darting right,
I pounce! Oh sweet mouse,
Did you think to escape me?
Home. Scratch, scratch at the door.
I reward my human with a rub between the legs,
A soft rumble as she puts down the food.
I wash my face and jump in my human’s lap.
I rumble louder as she strokes me.
I butt her face with mine. She kisses me.
Humans are funny, but necessary.
I think I’ll keep mine.

Fog

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on