Hour 7: Permutations 

Angst is just against
that’s lost a I
or an eye to see anew
an A to renew
If against could just have sat away
it would be a gain
Which without the gee risks becoming pain,
Although there’s also a chance of rain.

Hour 6: The Painter

The dawn sky explodes
In hues of my favorite childhood Easter dress,
Robin’s-egg blue threaded through
With satin ribbons all daffodil and rose,
Circling me in their quaint magic spell.

A new painting daily
Other times glowing lavender
Nudging us awake.

Hour 5: Advances?

Trains taking sleep into the spiky hands of watch gears

Factories disconnecting hands from results

Screens stealing gazes

Oh, but the wonder of you in the palm of my hand!

Hour 4: The Door

How carefully she shut the door
So as not to let out what was snuffling at her heels.
Habit’s teeth on her pantleg, trying to keep her from
This end as a beginning.

The Honda’s tires softening under the final load,
lamps and broom handles in the rearview mirror,
Ten years of losing her self.

The gate swung open, the key caressed the lock,
“This time it’s all mine”, she thought
as she stepped into a place of flowing light.
Inhaling, she took it all in.
Exhaling, she shut the door tight.

Before Darkness

I bow in gratitude before Darkness
The hearty earth-darkness of compost           fueling germination
Storm skies to wash me clean
Dream-caves lined with dangling clues
Renewal of retreat behind closed lids
Nothing exists without her quiet hand
Nothing grows without her blessing.

Hour 2: Uncertain Weather

There’s treasure and trouble within each drop of rain
Pleasure for some; for others, pain
Now we wait to learn if we will be redeemed or doomed
Here in our dim bedroom

Caught up

Caught up

And in all of it

I forgot to tell you
To look for the tiny feather
Caught in the web by the door.

Warming up…

I found this marathon at the last minute as I was scrolling through my Facebook feed in avoidance of my to-do list. I loved it. Signed up right away. Now….I’m feeling a little more nervous.

Although it helps when I see it much like the ecstatic dance practice I have loved for many years. If you spend an extended chunk of time doing something creative, eventually it’s too exhausting to judge every little move and you can fall more into the flow of it. You just keep moving, breath by breath. Perhaps something lasting emerges, perhaps it’s a pile of compost, but either way it lubricated the joints and strengthened the muscles.

This all coming from someone who’s only doing a half-marathon, of course.