Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Day 23: Stillpoint

We rest in it sometimes,
as we fall asleep or while
lounging during the day.
It's a moment when our
cells silence and the dream
takes over, a clear darkness
lingering, drifting through
the body, a lazy stream
meandering a meadow.
The stillpoint treats the
body to a quiet float on
on a still lake, precious
moments of rest.  Left to
itself, our body-mind
is a calm day. Left to
ourselves, all is well.

Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Day 22: The Park

We crawl through tunnels, upturned
picnic tables and green benches: fall chill
in the air, rooftops hazy with wood smoke,
leaves raked into brown piles, crows flying
above treetops, gliding along the bluff's
currents.  Freedom--no one speaks
of such a thing in our home, for our wrists
are raw from dirty twine someone left in
the garage long before we moved in,
a tattered ball grabbed from some dusty
corner. Dark and cold, this old house where
he prowls the night, across from silent trees,
the neighborhood devoid of kids' voices.
On hands and knees now, we wander endless
tunnels, keeping our worries hidden from
the maples and their sap seeping into the ground.

Nancy Canyon

Monday, April 21, 2014

Day 21: New Ice

There's ice on the marsh
today, wind whitecapping
the bay. Hard blue, water
the color of cold, bright
as the school girl's eyes
daring the sky. Loons
adrift, a tide to sing to shore.
She waits for him as
waves crest and break, then
he's behind her, tapping her
shoulder at the edge of ice,
saying, Hello my true love, 
finally I've found you.

Friday, April 18, 2014

Day 20: Birthday Party

Do you celebrate fully,
counting years like coins,
their weight dropping
between fingers, a stirring
kiss in the back of the cab,
table dancing and toasts 
of whiskey and wine?  Is it
forty, fifty, or sixty when 
you head back, settling into
younger age? What is youth 
serum but to play again?

Day 19: Aquiver

Aquiver when his hand draws down your back 
and the sound of his voice says I love you.

Shooting the breeze as you lie in bed at night, 
tangled together: the story about waterfalls, 

another about a favored pet. And as you drift off, 
one about wild ponies.Pinching yourself to see

if it’s real, this new love. Burning toast, fried eggs, 
grilled cheese, steak, broccoli: his breakfast, his lunch, 

his dinner. Fearful: everyone fights sooner or later.
Wretched: worrying you'll do something senseless,

like burning toast, and your new love walks away.
Unbearable: thinking that you might actually not know

how to love. Dreadful: thinking these things are true. 
Enlivening: his hugs and words assuring you it's real.

Nancy Canyon