the enso

"Bringing the Outdoors In" by marlowe

the poem

We notice the single crocus
as it rises like a phoenix from her nest
of rotten leaves, snow, and dried roses
wilted like damask gowns. The wind
sings to us like a siren.

Pine needles, disturbed by the wind, bristle
like porcupine quills, and fallen leaves
tumble over the pavement, clapping
like the hooves of galloping horses.
And these holly berries cradled in my palm?
Drops of blood.

And this blood boiling in your veins?
Love. It isn’t what you make it,
love is. Your center, your core:
it is the hub of that wheel.

We walk to the center of the forest. Trees
point paths to the divine, above and below,
but these evergreens stand
as stiff as the Queen’s Guards.

This evening, the cappuccino froth will sit stiff,
as decadent as whipped cream,
in your spoon while peppermint nips
your tongue like frost. You will argue
that the corkscrew of this cinnamon roll
is a mortal coil.

We will be spoiled, coiled in layers.
Our stained glass ornament will glow like the North Star
while the Christmas tree lights shine like constellations.
And this wrapped present will be a universe
waiting to be discovered.

the enso

"Yearning" by marlowe

the poem

1.
When the fog lifts, the world
is just as it was. Our lives are
plotted in grids and circles,
yet we continue to unwind
a ball of yarn into a straight line
which we then bend to our will.
Yes, blood is easily spilled, like wine
splashing from the glasses of careless drinkers
entranced by their revelry. The intention
we manifest as we walk our chosen path
is the moon that governs us, commanding
whether the tide ebbs or surges.

2.
See? The squirrel’s tail
is like a feather duster
but the tail of a skunk is a flag
that should not be ignored.
You tell me that to make something whole
sometimes it must be broken first.
This orange rind twists like a double helix.
Our kitchen curtains are veils that thinly separate
our constructions. Letters and numbers,
compiled into words and phrases, are doorways,
and not all that sparkles is fool’s gold.

3.
You wrap your fingers around your mug
like the tentacles of an octopus.
An owl’s hoot cleaves the darkness
while our two dogs curl asleep: yin and yang.

4.
Remember how each lemon was a sun?
The red dwarf maple tree was a torch,
the hay bales were thimbles in the fields,
and the weave of the basket
looked like a raspberry.
Now we watch a flock of seagulls flutter
on the wind like confetti.
Driving home, we are flanked
by dried crops of cotton, awkward bundles
of copper wire lined in stiff rows.
Yet the hibiscus opens like radar dish.