pink

touching you, the flower,
I came alive
in torrents
your life drenching and supplanting my slow roll
coloring and opening and reaching
I grew supple in the dancing rain
finding the seed of myself
the love that I own
in the meadow’s wild terrain
in the soil, deep, where only our feet play
I grew lush in the wind we shared
sprung from the laughter of creation
your laughter, your colors, your
unrelenting desire to make petals into wings

a walk tonight

a walk tonight, a warm rain after
November cold came early
the wind is sweet, like some kind of flower
I don’t know which one
You would tell me
and remind me again about your old garden
your arm reaching through mine
then it is gone, driven away by the earthy smell
of fallen, rain soaked leaves
why do I smell flowers on this night
A spring smell,
you wanted me to walk with you through
Boston’s blossoming trees
that first spring we were too new, too
caught in passion
and the next spring we were late
and the next spring we were trying to save us
or find us again
a living smell on this last day of October
on your birthday
that first birthday, days after we met
you sent me your picture
and I tried not to get carried away
and failed
It must be the past I am smelling
because I don’t know if Spring will come again

to fall, pierced, for this whisper

to fall

this treacherous and beautiful desert
this very universe
suddenly surrounding me, filling me
with desire only to know you
to become two drops of water
falling together into one
but clinging still in fear
not knowing when or if to fall
for two un-mingled still smiling droplets,
for all that desire would demand,
surpass the nothing
of falling alone

pierced

again, pierced by the random
beauty and sadness of this moment
my soul, that essential self beyond
words or emotion or shaped thought,
reached with its own hands
for your ineffable presence
for the fleshless touch
to share
to be
(the bittersweet melancholy, the simple delight,
these soon to be lost raw emotions)
with

for this whisper

for this, this merest whisper
walls I will build (wanting none)
and towers and guards to hold
the rampaging, lion like roaring
in my chest, my heart, my whole mind
aching to soar boundaryless
I will guard, I will build walls, I will bury
only for this whisper

illumination

clutter
thirty four books I want to read
and a wooden flute, to learn on
a desk full of pens and paper
a computer to sit down to, a computer to carry in a bag, a computer for my pocket
warm clothes, dress clothes, business clothes, summer clothes
four cameras, some weights, a yoga mat
and another case of read and unread books
camping stuff, dancing stuff, writing stuff
one, no two bottles of whiskey
a bed, drawers for more clothes
a couple of watches, cases for my glasses
an ipod and speaker, a lamp, a box of letters from old lovers
some toys, a bunch of journals, some for stories, some for poetry, some for thoughts and feelings
toys, a drum, some props for costumes
jackets and robes, towels and sheets
two mirrors behind the door
I turn out the light, finally, reluctantly
illuminating my empty room

Peace

a breath of air
lifting this page ever so slightly
then leaving it to fall
the cat at my feet
rolling tummy up, eyes closed
the horn of the neighborhood grocery truck, some blocks away, announcing its arrival with “La Cucaracha”
more distant, and beneath children sounds, the ebbing and flowing hum of cars on streets all around
a family of parakeets sing the sun down, the sky a brilliant fading orange
I reach up and pull the light cord
and look at this page
blank (and a little too bright) except for the word
“Peace”
hours later, I surrender;
-the sparse page unyielding-
“i don’t know what this word means”

the daisy

i reach out, my hand stirring
a strange vision, rippling like
lace over lace over
colors i know but cannot see
; and
something of the daisy
(in you) around
you washed over me
like forgotten days in sunlight
then all the world grew still
as I watched you dance