there are a lot of birds here. the filthy pearl of a swan

six of them     

  seven       

  beaks searching the lake. we

awake a set of geese    

  their calls loud and obnoxious.

a lone moorhen watches and passes through   

  gliding

the surface like glass    

  easing over. the ripples silver

in the sunlight   

  creating diamonds     

  precious metal.

the swans unsettle          

  running from their posts like

ghosts on skis    

  skating fast. a child’s laugh     

  a dog

approaches       

  my lover closes his eyes       

  a crinkle

at the edges         

  his breathing measured and content 

peace ease peace.          

  we let the geese wander near

braced for a rousing      

  but we are safe on our island

our small square of mat. a magpie    

  breaks a branch

above and we are momentarily pushed            

  out of 

tranquility but we can come back anytime     

  we can

always return. i have learned to allow this        

  to sit

in crowded nature    

  and observe her    

  participating

in the   

  universe   

  by admiring its beauty. this is truly

i think                                                    

  how we live.

brushing off the soil,

  pushing up sapling;

each time different

  each time new

i am twenty-nine 

and sewing a fresh lining,

buying flowers for the living

room table

i am twenty-nine

winding the soft cable of my

body into fluid contortions,

all forms available

my altered shape born

alone in food

alone in cinema

learning unescorted

and inhabiting home

this flesh is my own

this is twenty-nine years:

gratitude where i can get it

apple juice from a friend

bending to an inner wisdom

satisfied by truth’s luscious

harvest