by Michael Macklin

We sit in conversation
the world around us
recedes
until all that is left
is the sound
of our voices
filled with murmurs
as soft as waves
on a protected shore.
Your questions light
small fires on the beach
Your eyes bright
as stars at dawn.
I answer with the deep
contentment of stone
at the water’s edge.
For the moment we know
what we know and sharing
it equally is enough.

by Michael Macklin

At the hard edge of
dark water
you can catch an glimpse
of yourself reflected
on the growing ice
all frozen waves and ripples
but beneath something begins
to move with a slow thrum
of blood through your heart
beginning the work of awakening.

Even here in the cold
the memory of sun
divided evenly between day
and night starts to warm
a cup of dreams,
sweet tea of Spring
what you hope for
swirls toward boiling,
rises as you do
casting off the covers,
rises as you do,
into the new day

by Michael Macklin

Early the light filters through
pines and oaks
reaches between raw studs
to lay bars of shadow
on the sub –floor.

In my dreams this is
a place of warmth and safety
but today looking out
over the water and deep blue
sky I realize how much
of the world I will wall away.

I walk the stony beach
gathering waves and osprey,
bagging the sighs of the wind
to carry back to the rough table
inside where I’ll begin the careful
work of writing the outside world in.

by Michael Macklin

For you, it is a chance
to learn about the little people
scurrying through the dark
halls of computers, filing fingers to the bone.

For you, the opportunity to save
Resusci–Annie over and over
making up for the death of your
stillborn twin who never learned
to breath on his own.

For you, the safety of numbers and
the straight lines that promise
something built by your hand will remain
even while your heart quakes.

For you, the perfect soufflé.

Call it a new vocation, a change, a chance
to earn another buck, eat better, feed the family,
Call it what you will, but it is un– ending
the struggle to find the open door.