I write tonight from soul-depth love
From the bottom of the ocean
Where life abounds
Rising and falling, floating by
Pulsing in and out
An eternal current of being
Full of creatures I cannot name
Shapes I never imagined
Colors beyond my spectrum

Rockabye baby down in the deep
Soothe my soul unto deep sleep

These waters live and move within me
As I quietly tread the dry earth
Seeking solace from my
Primordial home.
I sing the song of dolphins
Dance the rippling of the waves
Walk the rhythm of the tides

Rockabye baby down in the deep
Soothe my soul unto deep sleep

Let sea levels rise
Let mother waters
Swallow the earth
Let us all be healed

Rockabye baby down in the deep
Soothe my soul unto deep sleep

The Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with urushi lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum.

Mending a heart is an art.
First you must find all the broken pieces.
The boy who never showed up at the beach.
The cat that ran away to live with someone else.
How frightened your dying mother looked at the end.

Each piece must be examined, cleaned, carefully polished.
Maybe he said Wednesday, not Tuesday. 
Maybe that cat just needed to be an only cat.
And the fright on her face settled into peace after the last breath.

Piece by piece you heal. 
The gold dust that binds the shattered fragments of your life
Like a broken teacup.

I don’t know where to put my feelings
In the heart shaped crystal in my purse?
In the space between me and my best friend?
In a song somebody else wrote?

Can I send them back where they came from?
The unanswered phone call
The shocking turn to fascism
The job that blew itself to smithereens

They flounce in like a diva
Demand attention, sympathy, consolation
Dismiss anyone who does not look them in the eye
Weep inconsolably if anyone actually does

What about Buddhist detachment?
Yes, what about it?
Who wants to be unmoved, unloved
Un anything worth breaking your heart for?

Will I be remembered as the girl
Who floated through life with quiet grace
A pretty picture that does not hold your attention
But looks nice in the family album?

Or the one who stirred up so much passion
Love, ambivalence, confusion, scorn
Who shot through the night sky like a comet
On a day everyone remembers where they were?

Did you expect an angel to hover over your first kiss,
Hold you back from that car running over your foot,
Sound trumpets when you finally got promoted?
The mommies and daddies. 
But you already have those.

Don’t let the snow hair fool you.
It was only meant to make you look twice,
Look at the black eyes, elemental, fierce.
Now watch him move.

That left hook to an ankle, an earthquake in the Philippines,
The rush to the goal, an avalanche in the Himalayas,
The collision, a final embrace of binary stars.
And then the puck to the right thigh, the scream opens a black hole
In a nearby galaxy.

Sit back and open a can of beer, creation is a blood sport
And you’re going to love every minute of it.