the miserable gardener

This Is Why You Were Born

go
go
go we send you
out to go
go in to
go deep
we send you to
go far
go to absorb
the sickness
the rising temperature
arteries choked with waste
body spewing foul odors
body turned upon itself but
stubborn life beating still
a great will to live
the will of life to persist
pitted against the disease that,
devouring the body,
devours even itself
and only continues by growing
go within to return
wind to the steppes
health to the child.
go out to bring back
bring back shaking fringe
bring back jasper eyes
bring back bee medicine

return with tail feathers
return with a new horse song.
return with songs to
praise our horses.
return
spring to the taiga
herds to the summerplace.
go to
bring back blue spores
fiddleheads, peony flowers,
and cow parsley umbels.
bring back cloudberries
bring back stinging nettles
winter dog roses, rosehips
bearberries, dark purple iris
hawk-bone whistles
willow flutes
the bloom of grasses,
marten furs to our beds.

go in order to return
carrying the sun
crowned with crescent moon
wise with illness
hands covered with
resin
body rich with pollen
this is why you were born

go to come back
singing a new song
bring us gifts and
stories of the vistas of
invisible cities

this is why you were born

(Pictures and poem by Cindy.)

coyote

it rises.
it falls.
it drives.
it plunges
into my arms,
under my hand,
falling into my eyes,
driving, stinging against my face.
stone basins spill over.
black boughs sway & shiver.
a magpie alights–
black boughs shed
cold drenching drops.
water rising into my arms,
pushing smoothly against my breasts.
washed away alive, we are
swept away, calling.
we are
inundated,
we are drowned,
we pray for water,
we worship the source.

it beckons.
it cleanses.
it purifies.
it is the conduit
through which the earnest offerings
of my soul are delivered.
the hearts of deer
do not satiate it.
the hearts of wolves
will not appease.
luring sparks spin upward
from Samhain bonfires,
immolating the wild moths.
continuing the practice
of metallurgy & alchemy
with stolen fire, we are
less masterful than we believe.
we are
enlightened.
we are outrun.
we are consumed.
we are transmuted.

it caresses.
it is the Voice.
it lifts.
it abrades.
a vehicle of dissemination,
carrying fragrances & frequencies,
beguiling swaying lovers,
urging the misdirection of my steps–
misleading, laughing, pushing.
on that “island of wind & airs”,
lark song rings down
from the excruciating
blue vaults.
the truth of freefall is
of very brief human survival.
stepping off, we learn we are
not eagles, or hollow-boned.
we are
seduced.
we send our messages.
we yearn for others.
we are left alone, clinging.

(Pictures and poems by Cindy.)