Redwood Stump
On the
Eve
Before every mourning
Who returns
When the house remains
Securely split, from your once
Reaching
Red arm
With a spell told
In ringlets
Burned through the ribs
Of your torso
The lullaby lulls
Of the solar step
A scarred face of your
Own Voice
Mute chords pull
From the grooves of your
Eyelid
And you,
Ask
Where were my polished
Palms, when I
Borne
Amputated
From the sky?
What relic did I
Make of my
old skin,
that I
Wouldn’t let it
warm
Me
Oct. 13 2020
On the
Eve
Before every mourning
Who returns
When the house remains
Securely split, from your once
Reaching
Red arm
With a spell told
In ringlets
Burned through the ribs
Of your torso
The lullaby lulls
Of the solar step
A scarred face of your
Own Voice
Mute chords pull
From the grooves of your
Eyelid
And you,
Ask
Where were my polished
Palms, when I
Borne
Amputated
From the sky?
What relic did I
Make of my
old skin,
that I
Wouldn’t let it
warm
Me
Oct. 13 2020
You Describe Love
In Low Water
(blue jay
Nest
on my branch)
Jay blue
you are
Current
Present
Moving
To carry
Twig snags, of my
Fraying
Pray Pilate
Picking clementine
Rine from her
Nail beds,
Dead moss,
Dimming from its
Frantic citrus green
Hue, grew to its
Fruit, plump to
Reflex her toes
To curl
Her claws
Gripped the green
From my shoulder
Blades, and
Elbows
Strained me
Defenseless
By your mere feathered
perch
You sat and
Seared my silken
Wound Skin
And I could not stop
But to stare, as
You jerk
And nestle,
Making fibers of
New Skin,
I had treated solely
To shadow and
Dew spit
I wish you’d
Sit!
Ease, you
only move,
Existing, either
Eye to eye, or
Behind the wet
Peeling light sap
Of those that
Look past, what’s
Before them
You, must’ve
fled
Some time on that
wind, carried sun
Cradled through
Leaves, stacking palms
Sifting through the
Approaching sky, descending
To the casted
Silhouette, and backhands
Of laurel blades
And you
Move through
My time
So statically
Nested
In sight, or behind
The afternoon glare
I
So still
Watch you, a
palpable
present memory
Fueled by fibrous
Shag moss, that
In your anticipation,
Wrung dry, to
Arid snags
You shuffled with
Nervous toes
And a tallon
Noes, made
A shallow crevice
Of the air
Sanctioned to my thigh
I receive,
In your desolate
Fled Skin,
A Puddle bowl,
Above the bark
That you may wash, of
What liability
you carry,
That moves
You south, so timely
And digs my tomb, amongst
The air, so no
Red soot
Could crust between
your current, that you rode
Wavering away
Wing over wheel
Over wing.
But to lower my limb’s
Refuge, to stretch the joint
Where you nested
Would be a treacherous
Sigh, that I
Forfeit your return
To turn slight from
Sightless presence
Might mean a last
Look of my
Unearthed
tendril body, that
You picked so
Thinly of me, and I
Reaching so fervently, to
House your wings
Shaped to the
Grooves of my
reddened hand
I remain, refused to
Move
To risk revealing
I myself have
Suspended
Amended, to that
Wind
To leave what embrace
I fashioned to
Fit yours,
That leave
can hold
Without gripping
And to
what rootless
Beings
Cannot
Carry.
Oct. 28 2020
In Low Water
(blue jay
Nest
on my branch)
Jay blue
you are
Current
Present
Moving
To carry
Twig snags, of my
Fraying
Pray Pilate
Picking clementine
Rine from her
Nail beds,
Dead moss,
Dimming from its
Frantic citrus green
Hue, grew to its
Fruit, plump to
Reflex her toes
To curl
Her claws
Gripped the green
From my shoulder
Blades, and
Elbows
Strained me
Defenseless
By your mere feathered
perch
You sat and
Seared my silken
Wound Skin
And I could not stop
But to stare, as
You jerk
And nestle,
Making fibers of
New Skin,
I had treated solely
To shadow and
Dew spit
I wish you’d
Sit!
Ease, you
only move,
Existing, either
Eye to eye, or
Behind the wet
Peeling light sap
Of those that
Look past, what’s
Before them
You, must’ve
fled
Some time on that
wind, carried sun
Cradled through
Leaves, stacking palms
Sifting through the
Approaching sky, descending
To the casted
Silhouette, and backhands
Of laurel blades
And you
Move through
My time
So statically
Nested
In sight, or behind
The afternoon glare
I
So still
Watch you, a
palpable
present memory
Fueled by fibrous
Shag moss, that
In your anticipation,
Wrung dry, to
Arid snags
You shuffled with
Nervous toes
And a tallon
Noes, made
A shallow crevice
Of the air
Sanctioned to my thigh
I receive,
In your desolate
Fled Skin,
A Puddle bowl,
Above the bark
That you may wash, of
What liability
you carry,
That moves
You south, so timely
And digs my tomb, amongst
The air, so no
Red soot
Could crust between
your current, that you rode
Wavering away
Wing over wheel
Over wing.
But to lower my limb’s
Refuge, to stretch the joint
Where you nested
Would be a treacherous
Sigh, that I
Forfeit your return
To turn slight from
Sightless presence
Might mean a last
Look of my
Unearthed
tendril body, that
You picked so
Thinly of me, and I
Reaching so fervently, to
House your wings
Shaped to the
Grooves of my
reddened hand
I remain, refused to
Move
To risk revealing
I myself have
Suspended
Amended, to that
Wind
To leave what embrace
I fashioned to
Fit yours,
That leave
can hold
Without gripping
And to
what rootless
Beings
Cannot
Carry.
Oct. 28 2020
Being Watched
From Below
(Coyote over
a Puddle of water)
“
Stop
Your
Crying
You are
Warping!
Wobbling, in misalignment
With your
Refracting face
Spattering slop
On sergeant
Stiff leafs
Let them be.”
You say,
Sniffing below
The fern canopy
Of my kneecap,
Some nose
Pressed to a pool
Of that
collected
Sky howl.
You ask,
Your snout
Raised, only as
Low
As the puddle rose,
To reflect me.
“
Is it soil
Over-boiled, in
Your snipping
Sniffles and sighing
That won’t
Let some season
Of wet, inclining
Your trunk to
The wayside, woven
Stilts on fiber pedestals
Dreary
Tilts
So still, of
Your own will,
That you
Wash of
your body?”
Fixed to my
frolicking
Water limp
Light stretching
Limbs, you’ve
known me
Through mirrors, and
Your peering
I’d kiss your prune
Pink fingers
At the decline
Of your habitual
Gape, beneath
Each, lulling
Light, fuzzed rays
Recluse to this
Rain
And you below
Staring at me
Through a puddle
screen
I, so delicately
Adhered
to your
Side, see
Below the chin where
You do not wash,
And under your eyelash,
Of lint
Of powdered daisy
That are not bat
Away, by the wafts
Of brush
You wade through
On the dry of
Days
I see below me
The under, of
You
Of your
Earth eyes
And fugitive
Whiskers tickling
Lip lags, and
Curling
Your ear
Closer to the
Sand
Wailing at that
Frocked flatus
Under your
Belly
Meeting the
Familial thunder
With the remnant
Relatives, resided
behind
your ribs
I’d breathe
But I would not
Lay your pelt
flat, and matted
Wet, to fray my
Needles to that
Braying breeze
Let them
Be, needless
You say
But in your line
Of looking
I will
dissolve
Resolving your
Wandering
waver
And be, what
Never let
In that season
Where you
Sniffed
And lapped
On my
Rippled
Mantle
Turn
Sight
To that
Shelf
Cut your
Tongue
And place
Upon
What
Stump
I’ve
become
Nov. 18 2020
From Below
(Coyote over
a Puddle of water)
“
Stop
Your
Crying
You are
Warping!
Wobbling, in misalignment
With your
Refracting face
Spattering slop
On sergeant
Stiff leafs
Let them be.”
You say,
Sniffing below
The fern canopy
Of my kneecap,
Some nose
Pressed to a pool
Of that
collected
Sky howl.
You ask,
Your snout
Raised, only as
Low
As the puddle rose,
To reflect me.
“
Is it soil
Over-boiled, in
Your snipping
Sniffles and sighing
That won’t
Let some season
Of wet, inclining
Your trunk to
The wayside, woven
Stilts on fiber pedestals
Dreary
Tilts
So still, of
Your own will,
That you
Wash of
your body?”
Fixed to my
frolicking
Water limp
Light stretching
Limbs, you’ve
known me
Through mirrors, and
Your peering
I’d kiss your prune
Pink fingers
At the decline
Of your habitual
Gape, beneath
Each, lulling
Light, fuzzed rays
Recluse to this
Rain
And you below
Staring at me
Through a puddle
screen
I, so delicately
Adhered
to your
Side, see
Below the chin where
You do not wash,
And under your eyelash,
Of lint
Of powdered daisy
That are not bat
Away, by the wafts
Of brush
You wade through
On the dry of
Days
I see below me
The under, of
You
Of your
Earth eyes
And fugitive
Whiskers tickling
Lip lags, and
Curling
Your ear
Closer to the
Sand
Wailing at that
Frocked flatus
Under your
Belly
Meeting the
Familial thunder
With the remnant
Relatives, resided
behind
your ribs
I’d breathe
But I would not
Lay your pelt
flat, and matted
Wet, to fray my
Needles to that
Braying breeze
Let them
Be, needless
You say
But in your line
Of looking
I will
dissolve
Resolving your
Wandering
waver
And be, what
Never let
In that season
Where you
Sniffed
And lapped
On my
Rippled
Mantle
Turn
Sight
To that
Shelf
Cut your
Tongue
And place
Upon
What
Stump
I’ve
become
Nov. 18 2020
Sitting on a
Redwood stump
(Talking together
By the water)
There is
Something peculiar
About the shade
Today, they
Slide faintly over
Sun spots
And itch
My earlobe, in
Hot stings
Cinched between
Flower rings
Daisy pins
And dried skin
How the wind
Whisps, catch
Water currents
Like dollop stars
Rolling over
Orbits, into systems
And milling
Planets
And wavering
Light tunnels
Rolled up, in
Lines
Side by side,
Aligned with,
Wandering ants
Keeping channels
With methodical
Wavering, along
Snared moss
Bottomed boulders
In embracing dialect
Light and path
Maker
Winde over rocks
And anything
Accepting shadow
I scratch a
Sigh behind
My jaw
Rawly bent
In garish
sun
Some jay
Sporadically
Stashed its beak
Below
softening leaf
Lets, linger
At distance
hip-by -hip
Behind garden
Beds, where
We’ll let feet
Fill silent
Hearts, and
Amputate
From snapped
Sprig of red
Wood skin
A relic rind
Of stories I
Stashed of your
Spelling tell,
Muted under
My fetter
Fingers
Shuffling sour
Skin, passing
Thin air
Over my ear
Lobes, picking
Crevices and
Snapping loops
Into fragment
Curves, and arches
There is
An itch behind
My ear, your
Breath nearly
Drying my
Cheeks of sweat
Dropping over
Your image
Drifting, downstream
Watching you
Aside my
Shoulder, smouldering
Me through sharpened,
Wettened light glare
I cannot
Hear
Behind this
Itching, that
On absent arm
Of that tree, we
Hung to,
Now
My ears
hot, in
Open sun
I see a
Shadow, close
Over your face
In a way different
To how those
leaf pockets
Risen high
Above this
Stump perch
Pulled, pinched
light beams sparking
Your freckles
Lively lit
in dizzy
Domains
Your polka dot
And beam moon
Cheeks,
Elongate over
This eroding
Hill, frayed to
Hay and fox
Tails, there is
An itch
I say
Injecting observations
Between your words
As to fragment
them
Further
till they
arch over
My head and
Shade severed
Sights
From scope
Scratching at
Your voice
Distorting your
Wails
Your wind
Whispers in
Your spewing
The whacking
Taps of branch
To leaf
Tree to tree
Until I
See, above
How such sound
Could not be,
But below from
Your crouched
And sewn
Lips, a circle
Of blue above
now,
Glossed your
Glare softer
Since,
And red
Reigned brightly
In tarnish
You eased
And in sun
I shivered
Dec. 16. 2020
Redwood stump
(Talking together
By the water)
There is
Something peculiar
About the shade
Today, they
Slide faintly over
Sun spots
And itch
My earlobe, in
Hot stings
Cinched between
Flower rings
Daisy pins
And dried skin
How the wind
Whisps, catch
Water currents
Like dollop stars
Rolling over
Orbits, into systems
And milling
Planets
And wavering
Light tunnels
Rolled up, in
Lines
Side by side,
Aligned with,
Wandering ants
Keeping channels
With methodical
Wavering, along
Snared moss
Bottomed boulders
In embracing dialect
Light and path
Maker
Winde over rocks
And anything
Accepting shadow
I scratch a
Sigh behind
My jaw
Rawly bent
In garish
sun
Some jay
Sporadically
Stashed its beak
Below
softening leaf
Lets, linger
At distance
hip-by -hip
Behind garden
Beds, where
We’ll let feet
Fill silent
Hearts, and
Amputate
From snapped
Sprig of red
Wood skin
A relic rind
Of stories I
Stashed of your
Spelling tell,
Muted under
My fetter
Fingers
Shuffling sour
Skin, passing
Thin air
Over my ear
Lobes, picking
Crevices and
Snapping loops
Into fragment
Curves, and arches
There is
An itch behind
My ear, your
Breath nearly
Drying my
Cheeks of sweat
Dropping over
Your image
Drifting, downstream
Watching you
Aside my
Shoulder, smouldering
Me through sharpened,
Wettened light glare
I cannot
Hear
Behind this
Itching, that
On absent arm
Of that tree, we
Hung to,
Now
My ears
hot, in
Open sun
I see a
Shadow, close
Over your face
In a way different
To how those
leaf pockets
Risen high
Above this
Stump perch
Pulled, pinched
light beams sparking
Your freckles
Lively lit
in dizzy
Domains
Your polka dot
And beam moon
Cheeks,
Elongate over
This eroding
Hill, frayed to
Hay and fox
Tails, there is
An itch
I say
Injecting observations
Between your words
As to fragment
them
Further
till they
arch over
My head and
Shade severed
Sights
From scope
Scratching at
Your voice
Distorting your
Wails
Your wind
Whispers in
Your spewing
The whacking
Taps of branch
To leaf
Tree to tree
Until I
See, above
How such sound
Could not be,
But below from
Your crouched
And sewn
Lips, a circle
Of blue above
now,
Glossed your
Glare softer
Since,
And red
Reigned brightly
In tarnish
You eased
And in sun
I shivered
Dec. 16. 2020
poems in parting
written by katie lyne
written by katie lyne