essential balm - qing liang you

I went from MacGyvering things

with toothpicks and tape 90 percent

of the time in my twenties

to Murphying 1,000 percent 

of the time in my fifties;

I never mind soft medicinal scents 

when abrasions heal fast

waiting on deliveries before I can nap

in the square below my window 

steps away from my front door 

there were people

at two am then again at five

the number growing -

many still there at nine and ten

a round of bells at some point

announced…what? why?

I know this from Birdie’s

waking, announcing 

well past noon

outside I hear the lulling 

churning of work done slowly 

while I wait for deliveries 

before I can nap 

the air I breathe

Music is Music

Poetry is Poetry;

in shared spaces 

of my crafting 

they do not (always)

share my heart 

bare my soul

announce my emotional state 

or allude to a depth of drowning 

Music is Music

Poetry is Poetry; 

they are 

the air I breathe

the thing I bleed 

the Spirit moving through me

in a world of kindling and ash