Mockingbird's Song

I am
Loba, sola
tonight.

alone with my
thoughts-
my sometimes regrets,
all those decisions
I
thought
better of.

some ranchero mariachi
is playing through
too-old speakers
and an impassioned
borracho
sings along-
almost tuneless
and yet
strangely in key
in this neighborhood
that is not quite
oakland
and not quite
san leandro
not quite free
of it's ghosts

I sit out
on this
borrowed porch
which is my own
for the next day-or-so
I sing out
into the street
serenading the shadows
as they dance
in the light
cast
by the street lamps
they keep time,
swaying with my sorrow
dancing
all my grief

tonight
my Heart is wandering
as far and deep and wide
as my thoughts

she
is out there, circling
somewhere
between
homelessness
and Light
between empty days
and too-full nights
she
is
looking
for someone to make it right
someone
to set it all down
to write out the histories of mustard seeds
and cacti
and red wine
of honey bees
and scarabs
and rainbows of light

wake up, o sleeping one
wake up from the night
peer into the morning sun
with curiousity
and
courage

spill forth
your song
call up
all
your gods
and
remember
who
you
are.

Hooting and Howling....

so many times around
this little town
until i am almost
dizzy
with familiarity

i am missing
in action
missing out on days of nights
of fun and possible adventures
i am taking a
breather
sitting on the bench
for a moment's rest
stretched out on couches
lazy and too-warm from the sun
hopefully soon
i'll be full of a new energy
that will carry me
another leg on
this crazy
Journey

but in the mean time
i am
gathering food from gardens
cooking and laughing
smoking, singing, crying
sitting around fires
sharing brief moments in the lives
of so many here
who are
so busy now,
so busy.

and i wonder, do
strange little owls
still convene
at random subway stops
and city park oases?

and have the wolves
all fled the city?