How still I am as I watch this sky.
This sky,
With all its moods and sharp edges,
Almost transparent blue to my right
But to my left,
Raging.
I quiet my breath
As layers scrape silently beneath layers
Now spreading out, now surrendering
Before dissolving into the yellow-white light.
The wisteria sighs
The peak of the old shed roof
Is solid and safe
Like hands clasped in prayer.
The wind cuts chasms in this sky
And then shakes her head, smiles
And whips their edges like cream.
I smile too
Even though I cannot lift my head.

This house breathes.
I hear it
In the depths of night
Gentle and even like a heartbeat.
After the rain
I go outside
And smell her breath
Sweet and strong to remind me
Of those who have come before.
Sometimes I think she might swallow me up.
She looks scarred and hungry
And then she falls silent for days
And I fear she might have slipped away
But no.
She is here.
She reaches out to me
In the fleeting moments
On a Tuesday afternoon
When the sun washes the surface
Of the world
And warms the insides of my eyelids
And lifts me up like a child.
She is breathing even now.

How should I please you? Tell me, pray do.
So full of criticism,
You crack my head open and
Fill it up
Until I’m so nervous I can
Barely breathe
And then off you go to the bath,
Whistling,
Leaving melted, edgeless pieces of me
In your wake.

Today I saw
Shadows on new rice,
The wind lifting and lowering rain
Like a curtain,
A jagged and beautiful sky.