Status Updates From The Moon Is Always Female: ...

People often labor to attain
what turns out to be the entrance
to a small closet
or a deep pit
or sorrow like a toothache of the brain.
.
I wanted you. I fought you
for yourself, I wrestled
to open you, I hung on.
I sat on my love as on the lid
of a chest holding a hungry bear.
You were what I wanted: you
still are.

Dance like a jackrabbit
in the dunegrass, dance
not for release, no
the ice holds hard but
for the promise.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
and although they have
pronounced us dead, we
rise again invisibly,
we rise and the sun sings
in us sweet and smoky
as the blood of the maple
that will open its leaves
like thousands of waving hands.
. . .
from The inside chance

But when I sit still and alone
trees hatch warblers rapid as sparks.
The price of seeing is silence.
A voracious furnace of shrew darts
in the grass like a truncated snake.
On my arm a woodnymph lights probing
me curiously, faintly, as she opens
and closes the tapestried doors of flight.

I just lowered my last rating to 3 stars because of how good this poet is off the bat