Taking Honey

Hot knife cuts cap

off cells filled with

liquid gold. Spin it, 

force it to ooze out

the spigot. Strain it into a 

cheesecloth covered

bucket. Leave enough

for bee's hard won

winter food.

Bottle some for me to 

sweeten and warm up

winter's bitter chill. 

How Fidelity Happens

Blankets knot, sheets tangle.

 Limbs twist, nerves jangle. 

Fragrance floats along for free. 

Kything sent to him, unbeknownst by me. 

The next morning he said, 

“I dreamed the strangest dream. 

If anyone else dreamed the same

one last night, maybe it 

happened to me.” 

I turn away. 

Pink spreads up my face. 

I'm grateful no one can see inside 

bundled and bedded dreams.

My ring's still on my finger. 

I'm awake and longing for home. 

I want my beloved - he waits for 

me in our marriage bed - alone. 

A Generous Man

He told the rose, "You're

dangerous," many times

that day - for she always

carried a passport in her bag

and a ready yes on her face.

He could easily snap her stem 

from its branch. She wanted 

plucked, and stuck permanently

close in the empty buttonhole 

of some gentleman's jacket.

He bent down often

to smell the rose, knowing 

she couldn't be his. He left

her fragrance blooming for

another to pick and carry

close to his chest for life.

He remembers this rose

whose faint perfume still

curls around his songs, tickles

his dreams, and whispers

his poetry awake.

Ann Dunbar's Paper Dress Sculptures

I drove an hour to go back to Curtis Steiner's shop/gallery in Ballard again. The first time wasn't enough. It is the sort of place that lets you poke around and open drawers to see what secrets are held inside. It feels like walking into a poem. The shop sings with storied art, with lots of uncrowded space to pause and wonder...and breathe. It invites you to come in and linger.

Ann Dunbar makes common paper elegant and eloquent. Even the sunlight was attracted and played dress up with us.

My Love Lets Me Fly

Wind carries my kite high. 

It fights to be free but if I 

give in and release the taut 

string, the dancing colors 

will know mangled ruin -

be lost. 

You hold me tight without 

letting go no matter how I beg. 

You wrap me untangled 

around the strong handle 

of your love. 

You let my colors

out to fly and play -

but not away.

Outlines and Bounding Lines

The child presses down hard

until black wax builds up. 

Inadequate outlines

printed without sufficient

ability can't keep rambunctious 

colors captive on the page.

"Concentrated, contained energy equals eternal delight." William Blake via Malcolm Guite