Marie Taylor, Ink

I GAZE UPON THE EARTH

I gaze upon the earth from which I was drawn,

pulled head first into life,

my marrow sucked through roots and branches,

my blood siphoned from the sea,

my voice sliced from the coyote’s cry.

Given form, then released to find my way,

a nomad, I wandered the labyrinth of life.

Not knowing, unknown, ignorant, I roamed,

confusion in my wake, until bone rattled,

I learned to dance,

EARS HIGH, TAIL WAVING

“I had a dog once
Who liked to fetch,”
I wanted to say
as the man with the white beard
and baseball cap
flung the ball high in the air
and the lumbering lab
barked twice and ran,
ears high, tail waving.

“I had a dog once,”
I wanted to say
as I remembered
gray boulders round a blue lake,
pheasants rising red bushes,
deer tracks in new fallen snow,
and Beau running at my call,
ears high, tail waving.

‘