The Freeing

She lowers the pail into the well
pulls up black water
a full bucket of it
sets it in the grass to
moonbathe until dawn

She has heard tell
water painted by the moon
gives you the power to change
loosens old skins and masks
tightened by days of trying

She has heard tell
water soaked in the moon's gaze
becomes the sweet nectar
of free life
free thought
liberation

Under the fits and starts of stars she waits
and when the dawn finally comes
eagerly tips the metal lip to her mouth
lets the moon dusted river
rush her body
clear her of all things caged




~dawn thompson

reminiscent

dreams of bees
humming
I wake to clean
and find a lizard
snoozing
under the couch,
I pick him up
to take him
outside and
he's slow
to leave
the warmth of
my hand.

it's foggy
here
this morning,
but the birds are singing
and the horses
are
romping.

and
I land somewhere
between
poetry and prose,
pausing for a puff
and a sip.
new rituals beginning,
new rhythms-
hit the re-set this weekend
and i feel fresh-
holding onto my center,
learning how to
rest, there
and reminding
myself to
have

some

fun.


the days of the oh-so-solemn,
ceremonials are
over-
I welcome
breath,
I welcome
pause,
I welcome connection,
I welcome
the smile that plays
on the edges of my lips,
I am That-
and now, too,
This-
just
and all
and every bit-of,
this.

well.

tell me,
what good is a candle,
without a flame?
when all spells are broken-
only the truth remains.