the swarm of minutes

 gathered round  3:00 AM
long now  a favorite time of mine:
the rite of flowing down the stairs
to the kitchen    the harvest of the first mug
 of coffee in the day    the letting in of cats
their swirling around my feet
 waiting for their morning feed

attending   the wakening of 
    birdsong   the sun
attending   the bedding of the moon

rooted in these rituals
 about to be uprooted
no flight of stairs for the multiple 
   of days and nights
soon now   a ladder for climbing up
and clambering down
loft and balcony   and loft
wherein text and textile wait
  upon my weavings

returning to a landscape
 I have sorely missed
 where I belong
even as I lived in the beauty of
  the Otherness of where I’ve been
  for this long time away
returning to a skyscape
 180 degrees of blue and cloud tapestries
the earth  heaved and breathing
 hill slopes   plowed furrowed 
   and planted
the intersperse of field and woods
eye bursting greens   burnished reds and golds
the stark monochromes of winter
this was/is/will be  alchemy
 for me

One comment on “the swarm of minutes

  1. In a world that has become a crowd, you find space.


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