dear sisters

our tree’s stretch
of skyward is slowing

as is their leaf fall,
wrap of blankets,
and hopeful reach again for spring

breathless trips on summer

stumbles of things forgotten
upon
faces fanned by noon
to the indoor’s draw of
cooled plush pillows and sweeter tea

i tell you that,
that
your hair seems darker
grey but still lively
and that old isn’t old
like say
that lady

none, neither among us
good at math
as high hopes are free
and tomorrows,
they don’t run out
until they do and check out time
comes for some, early

but then no one tells you

because that need to know
no longer cares
but laughs
glad tits sag eventually
and that the allure of frumpy
will be calling soon enough

but gleefully not soon
not this afternoon

for today, there’s shade

* * *

when mountains move

a fervent wind
finds my window’s unlatch
and twelve hundred pounds
whispers
it’s gone home from the shadow

its white tail
distances my reach
and twining fingers
needed feel of silken threads
finds only air

i’m running
but you corner at a gallop
my callings to echo
upon hoof prints now made of stars

you have left the farm today
and i cannot follow

leaving behind the
little girl eyes held sorrow
of a woman without a horse
to wish upon

* * *

when watering horses

my dandelions blown
i tumbleweed

but now
plant feet to ground
in my furrow to burrow
my stay, being here

to my west a sun sets
upon a thought last heard
once in a childhood dream

or maybe
it was yesterday
between commercials
whispered
when i believed
you weren’t listening

when my fingertips found your arm
needing touch your skin
feel the rumble of your voice
sweet to my ear to my everywhere

my finding within
the meaning of home
in everything we’d made
and hold what’s most precious
without fear

all but words decay

* * *

forever of sun

my feet have reached
a destination far ashore

i taste of texas

of grass and of dirt
wood fencelines with
ponies at hand in their roam
wide sky visions fading their denim
fraying age-white
in their tattering cloud flee,
their scattering wisps
blown from my palm wrinkles my nose
and cherishes your chuckle

petals that fall, aging plants
are swept from porches
bare shouldered in my sundress
in my long stroke

where the wind takes them
we do not ask
in our bent head burrow
in our deeper than knuckle
with waiting bulbs and
this good black dirt

we both, sunlit
of summer

  * * *

sometimes rain came anyway

she had these old eight tracks
she kept in a big brass container
i know was once for firewood
it i don’t believe ever saw a stick

when the sky was dark
and the storm on its way
she’d listen to them
these
strangers playing jazz
turning the kitchen
into old new orleans the house floated
in blues of lonesome

she said nighttime was easy
she’d sleep and when there
he’d whisper in her ear

but storms
they kept everything inside
and alone weeps through the cracks
in a silence
until quieted again by 5:00 and gin

* * *