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Spring sleeplessness

It’s winter-has-warmed-to-spring insomnia —
you don’t want to stay up late
but the warm-cool air
coming in through the windows
is a seasonal aphrodisiac
too strong to deny —

      the quiet of the dark
      the rustling of the leaves
      the glow of the moon —

How can anyone sleep
with a breeze like that?
blowing in all the defrosted desire
that froze last November,
caressing you with earthy invitations
and fresh green scents
that make you remember
your primalness —

Why even bother turning in?
no dream will be as good
as this open-window wakefulness,
no rest worth missing
weather this wonderful —

So strip down to your skivvies
and skip the sleep —
      it’s Spring!

Terri Guillemets

May you

May you lose a lot that matters to you
      a few times in your life—

May you make and remake and
      remake yourself over and again
      and burn yourself right down
      to ashen smoking embers
      of bone and grit and soul—

So that you may always know
      the pain of rock bottom
      the freedom of rebirth
      the hope of revival
      the gift of perspective
      the awareness of your strength—

May you lose but live again.

Terri Guillemets

Quiet desert

“The desert was quiet. The coyotes were not howling yet. I was my own howling coyote. Outwardly a comfortable-looking man in an arm-chair, smoking a pipe, I was inside a half-starved little coyote, out there on the dark desert, howling to the stars.”

—J. B. Priestley (1894–1984), Midnight on the Desert: A Chapter of Autobiography, 1917

Leaves for the Dead

I who have loved the sound of leaves
Restlessly writhing into speech
Desire that to my silent grave
Only leaves shall reach.

So I who walked above the ground,
And leaves that danced before the sun
May meet below to form one dust
And in the earth be one.

When the last wind has stripped the boughs
Some autumn, go out anywhere
To any tree, and look beneath
The leaves:  I may be there.

—Paul Engle, “Leaves for the Dead,” 1929