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Just a Tourist
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Burnt Blue
'I dwell in Possibility.' – Emily Dickinson
crazy dreaming woman
hammers endlessly on the
doors of heaven
open handed – exiled dreams, red
iron sweat soaked sheets
and
the silkiness of this home made from Love.
the worship plate sits by the courtyard door.
the woman who lives inside waits and
waits
bells tied to her ankles.
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in her hand the smooth green apple of
insatiable longing. in her heart the
foam
edge of a cresting wave. and
the frost pattern borderline of spirit
melts
in
her
burnt blue noonday heat.
Telling the beads on the talisman I call 'my life'
I kneel down at the boundary of her
dreaming possibilities.
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