Spider in my Pocket

I have learned not to freak out
When I find a spider in my pocket
It’s only a small leggy thing
Looking for some darkness to hide in.
He is happy to leave
If you nudge him gently away
Don’t fight or frighten him
Just a small vibration and touch can curl
Him into a ball and send him rolling out and away
 
The threads he leaves might be sticky and fine
They may tangle in my fingers or drift across my cheek,
Yet they can show me the miracle
of the magic in his labor
The fine thread that binds human to spirit
The tenuous connection we might be just lucky enough to find.
One thread in a starburst of direction to follow
Just the right and best thread
You need to see.
 
So, tomorrow I may find a master weaver in my pocket
And I can choose to freak-out
Or not
But maybe that brown creepy spider, is a clue
And suddenly I’ll know there is no place to go
And this thread is here for me to see and hold
A piece of tangible tangle
In this foggy and messy life.

The Amphibian in me

I walk home in a gentle rain,
A female rain that nurtures and caresses.
And I think, yes, this is me: walking in the rain.
Right now it maybe the finest part of me
This walking in the rain.
 
I think I am part amphibian.
A silky frog or a camouflaged toad
The rain awakens my primal essences:
The ones snapping behind the brain,
The ones below the belt.
I want to throw my head back
Expose my white rounded belly
And croak to the seeping sky
“I am frog hear me roar!”
 
When I was a little girl,
The bullfrogs of summer
Would croak and groan and sing
‘Til just before dawn.
Their bodies hidden in the marsh
Voices thrown to the stars.
I wanted to be a bullfrog
To feel the joy of hiding yet to sing in such a full voice,
To find love in the darkened marsh.
 
Tonight, the gentle pat pattering in puddles on the pavement
Eases me into thinking: it is a night for slow love---
The love the seeps between the lips of lovers
To the un-matched passion that lingers there.
A mist rising, swirling, and then echoing quiet.
Indeed, it is a night for quiet tap tapping love.
Permissions from the heart to enter.
Clinging of the hearts not wanting to leave.
Finding gentle need between fingers and dreams.
Slipping between marsh grasses and swaying on cattails---
Alive from the very center.
 
Yes, I am: walking in the rain.

Here is a Chap Book:

Love is a Verb