I love nights when you go to bed, the paint is wet...when you wake up, it's dry. My heart then flies. In the morning with eggs, with coffee and kids. With rushing and laughter, abrazos y picos, faces coming into their shape, wiping off sediment from the nights tears, with saliva. Music hugs me, and reassures me I'm beautiful and reminds me to breathe. [I forgot to take my time, and give my time.] Give and take, sheesh, yin and yang...After the bath, massaging my daughters little body, making her laugh, shea butter and lavender dreams. I wish to remember what I learned, about all of this...weeping willow's rain drop, travels down from above, to the top of the tree, flows down to the ground, then absorbed by dirt and roots and thirsty bugs, to come up again, through the weeping willow bark, into it's weeping willow heart. wisdom in my heart, please flow upward and shine like the sun through my eyes, blue skies, no more grey.

Intensity, stay. Creativity and play. Be round. Be proud. Drink water, eat lettuce. Be thankful, wear black, wear hats or whatever makes you happy. Just be it, because you don't want to wake up 80 and regret all those times you shoulda let loose, shoulda forgave, shoulda prayed. Shoulda bathed a babe. (right?)

anyway, you get the gist.

Dreaming of dialogue I run to write it down, swirling into a tub of emptiness I forget in the morning, now recalling the homework I've given myself of for some reason documenting dialogue for some future play or book or something. Pregnancy getting heavier by the day and the thought of going to the hospital is a strong drink of something that is sure to make me sick. My back aches and so on, so it's hard to focus on the little life inside when, well, I won't give my self time to look. To busy to change history. The little life is being moulded by my thoughts and services, it's the least I can do for futures sake to relax today and talk with her.

Hey Dreams...There's a little thing that needs my attention, too.

Could you possibly flow river-like along my shores

little by little

erode me away

sand by little piece of sand

until I merge with you again

---Been nominated to take over the Blog for Silly Sally's Events, so if you'd like to take a look, well, go right on ahead and look!

www.sillysallysevents.blogspot.com

xo

Under the Orange tree

Not surely a scare, but mostly a daring way to prove myself

under the orange tree

Wolf heads perked in daylight

over the brick wall that's too deep for the compost to sweeten the neighbor's clementine tree.

Black Birds swoop, little birds too quick to see their colors

sing to each-other

Crows respectfully stay quiet.

There's the sound of pottery breaking on cement

Blood under the orange tree.

I fill a puddle with water, watch it irrigate the soil, winding through the exposed roots and

wash His little hand

Soy conciente de este aliento
de mi alma
Estoy viendo patos silvestres
en el cemeterio
la celebracion de vuelo
y ser libre
iluminando un cortazon salvaje
los tiempos para el padre

My fingers are cold.

It's been a long time since

solace has found me in the woods

wandering with palms turned up

turning brown dead leaves crunch 

leaving my countenance soft

leaving bread-crumbs of prayers

scattered on the forest floor for future spring-time flowers.

My fingers are warm.

It's been a long time since 

solace has found me

over a steaming pot 

of family tradition

welcoming vows with palms turned down

ancestral spirits living in steam.