I am

I am the wind,the sparkle in the blond boys' eyes.
I am the moose in the wilderness come too close to town, chewing and thinking, watching the younglings in the reeds, afraid to let them go.
I am the pickle, the sour to those too sweet. I climb the stairs to pickledom in the vinegar of New Zealand apples and the oranges of real trees.
I am the earth with her plump, twisted sense of humer. Giving and taking and giving again.
I am the silence in the window of your mind. The hidden shadow with a plesant surprize.
I am a rose, a dandilion, a cherry picked green garden thing grown in the weediest part of the garden but with some elegant strain still hanging on, barely visable.
I am mother, heart-beat, daughter, heart-break, sister, heart-bent and lover heart-strong.

Silver days

My days are silver now
slipping away behind me in a river I can't collect
through my fingers, through my toes and around my thies.
The swirls of eather are engulfing even the top of my head
And my skirt is tangled in time.
My weight sends me floating in a current where
I can only guide what is me, not what is around me.
I am taken to no shore
But if I am careful, I can avoid the boulders
And not swallow too much time at one time.