There are geese on the horizon.
I hear them in the distance, one piercing cry
after another, through the windows of my little house,
carefully cosied for the winter that rides hard at night.

I open the door to autumn,
a clarity of realization hitting me in the frosty morning,
struck by that haunting herald of things to come,
the geese are flying south, down to the lands
where summer is made in sweet
elysian fields of eternity.

All it takes is one wild cry from the destroyer’s beak,
to shatter this thin ice of a life,
cackling cracking every false world
I can never really claim as my own,
one break back
to the heavens where I got my beginning,
being redreamed, redreaming being,

the sudden declaration of the inevitabilities
of death, harvest hunter upon me,
so that there is no choice but the one choice to die–
happy.

When the geese come for me tonight,
my flight will be something like a silver dance
where dark and light become the one romance.

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Words, more words,
a mountain of meaninglessness upon our heads,
no space to stretch the weary mind,
letters like window bars
upon a blank-paged world at bay.

Sink into the paper,
past the black confines of your hard-inked language,
now space enough to spread out your dreams,
delving deep into the pure
unwritten-ness of it all before you.

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The depths I used to swim
are turned too shallow to dive;
The dreams I used to sing
are no longer high enough to fly.

The inkwell is broken, words spilled on the page,
as even my own thoughts riot to be heard,
flowing out beyond the confines of old life,
a stained metaphor for dreams
no longer justice enough to beauty’s truth.

The rim of my inner cup is cracked, that
hedge of comfort so carefully tended now cut down by passion:
over-filled, I can no longer hold the world to myself so that
safety is no longer the hidden desire of my heart.

My bones like shells clack together, the Goose of Creation
sounding out an infinite longing:
be born! BE BORN!

Somehow, in the short summer nights
when sleep was sweet to the soul,
I found a courage never held before,
spreading its plumes, awakening with a roar,
wild mane of red shaking in the air,
released! unleashed! … no longer caged to fear

Leaping over the ancient mountains,
no longer unattainable peaks, even this love so softly
given, slips down into the valleys, feeding at the roots of joy.

One great shout, breath of the gods,
mere bones and clay no longer,
enspirited now I am, absolute in my knowledge:

there is ‘no longer‘ anymore!

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Sometimes the heart does not know
the secret to its own longevity,
as though some compelling force
feeds on through the glued up
cracks,
wrinkles far outworn in use, no
mask to enfold a fragile self,

And all I can feel or think or do or say
is to weep a quiet rain of fear

turning thoughts outside myself
flooding the streets
with love.

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There is rain tonight in the valley,
rivers running off course
and even the wind has missed its directions,
leaves stuck in my hair,
my eyelashes kept open to the gale,
forced breath, light dip but no depth
beneath the panting weight of
slanting
cloud come down around the very feet of
Mynydd Mawr, the Great Mountain,

roads washed out into fields,
barring the way instead of leading home,

and the black cattle hang their calls
on a hawthorn–little shelter in its spines,
while my refuge is the gorse, golden but
hardly more protective than the forlorn thorn in the field.

Bare foot, shivering, soaked to my very spirit,
there is no turning back for even the wild things,
no relief until the relentlessness slackens with its own
weariness, wondering that perhaps it has had enough
of itself, just as a child cries out its woe
until there are no more tears to be had.

Until then, I will wait,
struck by the adamant intent of a landscape to survive,
even in the face of a storm which knows no difference
between fence and field, woodland or mountain heath,
only its own release into the world
like my words now dropping on all alike,

tawny owl taking what belongs to it,
each poem agile in stealth, waiting for you
in the dark night of dissolution
to steal you beyond death into

clouds parting, sun gleaming,
and the whole world glistening anew with the fervor of
seeing itself once more.

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