Before Rain

What is it about cloudy springtimes that prophesy some
tenuous complicity,
some unpardoned infliction?
Perhaps it is the flowers,
blooming silently in their waxy delicacy,
peering with expectation
at the watery gray delight of sky-borne promises.
Is it rather crows,
roaming the spaces between sky and earth,
calling primal, undignified,
the ugliness of their songs
like water filling porous rocks–
an erosion of sound,
an inkblot on the wind?

Is it trees, leafy, burdened with
green and bustling purpose,
fluttering noisily in northern breezes
and then, just before dusk,
are ominously,
expectantly,
silent?

 

Is it the nearness of faces,
awash in the crispness of gray light and thunder
yet unspoken,
bundled to eyes in black clothes,
walking hurriedly,
conspicuous eyes made of a curious haste,
darting every so often
toward the clouds?

©K Paige Medina 19 April 2017

The Silence of Flames

Watch out,
they might have said,
for the silence of flames–
crafty old dancers
carrying secrets they bought off the wind.

Sparks spread like pollen,
flowers alight with their own heat;
these plumed birds do not
understand the games of war.

Watch
for the flame within,
the nettle pinching in the throat.
Do not,
like those into whose eyes you look,
forget that no man plays the music
that moves flickering feet.

Mists that move in later
may mingle with the smoke
of these finished dances;
let them move—

Fire is no stranger to the cooling peace
of small mornings;
it only sleeps.

In its silence,
it can never be conquered.
Breathe, and
do not despair.

 

©K Paige Medina 25 February 2017

The Wolves

Where do the wolves go
when their night feet have wandered
through dreams and through shadows,
spilled the milk of the moon into
pools of light on window sills?
Have they spoken their prayers,
their curses and sympathies
into the ears of wild children
before they are gone?
Whose wolf eyes water at
the coming of dawn;
some mournful sound lingering
to draw out the night
and to keep at bay the clamor of bells
the noise and the rustling of
so many human clothes?

I once had been known
to abandon my bed and I saw them,
their backs thin like shadows
or the air under snow,
and I think they have seen me
and recognized
for they have not returned–
my gaze must have caged them,
held them like sinners
beneath the bristling cold of their wiry moon.

©K Paige Medina 02 January 2017

The Illusion of Silence

Heat overtook the world
For a moment,
Bubbling its insistent movement into froth,
Jumping and excited,
Churning with the massive
sluggishness of magma,
Unapologetically leaving flames
Awoken momentarily into angry dancing
By a passing heat —
A scorched moment.

But then,
With the suddenness of nightfall,
The world cools
Briefly,
Water drifts into crystal shapes,
Time fractures,
White static hushes it all
Into the illusion of silence.

Peace on earth —
Snow on naked branches —
We must be silent
Before the world once more
remembers
The heat of its mouth.

© K Paige Medina 11/17/2016