Rising Wind

BORN of the body, memories 
Of where she was, and what she felt;
Every bone with different marrow,
Pangs that in the sun just melt,

Capillaries of inclusion,
All in one, and one in all:
Birthed in sorrow’s touch, and needing
Rising wind and waterfall.

There for the taking, melodies
That soothed her ears and calmed her heart;
Smells of breakfast cooking, frying,
Transferred to a world apart,

Knees and shoulders free from aching,
Hair no longer gray or thinned;
Born of the body, turned to fire,
Soaring on the rising wind.

The Broken Dawn

I am the broken dawn, the straggling day. 
Arrived again, but to no purpose led -- 
I see the world in mist before me spread, 
But find no answering, no well-lit way 

To where, again, the sun connects the pulse 
To things that matter; weighed down like a plinth, 
I stand unmoving in this labyrinth 
As nearly-dead as any who