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No Burning
Along with my patience
this summer is ending.
The grass is tinder dry
carpenters warned not to strike nails
or drive screws into protesting wood.
Mowers eye straw-coloured weeds--
go back inside, more afraid at last of sparks
than of appearances. Barbeques remain unlit.
Along the waterfront, no barrels burn debris
gathered from the yards of house-proud owners.
On this island
each of us is his brother's keeper
if any of us is to keep anything at all.
Flames speak in tongues, like Holy Rollers,
forcing us to care for one another in our common fear
of uncommon disasters.
Any day, fire might lick the rafters we've erected,
expose the black rubble of our lives
built with pride over flaws
suddenly revealed.
Water Lilies
Water lilies
along the pond's edge
shades and textures like the tongue
whispering
breeze that nipples across water
the swimming heart's immersion
a flash of arc and tail
hidden, eggs wait
for lilies to bloom
for the surprise
of new fry leaping
for what is glimpsed to tell its story
floating like tendrils of hope
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Birth
Birth is the first port you enter
waves lifting you hull-hard
towards the scrape of boulders
water surrounds you
and the creeling of gulls
their noisy covenant shaped from bone
taking wing in a dark sky
you are the promise your parents have made
a being apart though they bind you
to the umbilical chord
pulling at your newer heart to anchor it
beneath the keel of their lives
let your hands and feet flail
your parents gave you lusty loud lungs
to cry for freedom
from a wild raft that they never imagined
would take you so far out to sea
the most surprising vessels float
steered by anger
and captained by nothing but courage
you can wish for luck
but it is not luck that finds the shoal
and shore of your own sweet island
or rides the wake that guides you
to those who have made a similar journey
to be born is to float
a transient heart your compass
and the northern star
to lead you home
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