Showing posts from May, 2020

Blurred Boundaries

I trust the waves, the water,
the pulse of love;
I trust the boundaries breached,
peace and passion moments,
calm intruding,
spaces blooming into liminal space.

I trust their blending,
the unknown,
the what-is surprises,
the blank canvas of the fearful future,
the playful pause that brings me home again.
Connections in and out.
I trust the waiting
and the leading the waiting brings.

I want to emerge
with my boundaries just a little blurred,
fuzzy lines and bleeding love.
I want to fade into wave and wave blending.

I want to emerge
with my eyes wide open
to the blurred boundaries,
wet all,
water spreading.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2020

Still the Birds Sing

The bug looks like a small black Volkswagen
driving in circles on the wooden railing;
suddenly, a flying car.

The birds sing and the wind blows and the sun shines
and the dandelions grow in the recently cut grass;
yellow dots pock the green grass.

A female cardinal swoops to the bird feeder,
then a finch,
reds and browns and grays and seed debris drops down,
and the birds sing, melodious.

The sky milks blue
and clouds float
and branches sway from the trees.

The birds multitudinous sing antiphonally--
          call, response, recall.

Light shadows the ground.
Still the birds sing.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2020