love doesn’t end

love doesn’t end
it isn’t a coat you remove
when you grow too warm
love is wearing you
and like a child in a new satin dress
she refuses to take you off even to sleep
she plays wildly in you
without regard to tearing or digging in the dirt
so you quickly grow tattered and threadbare
until love stands naked inside you
until you become love’s own skin
through you she feels
other skin and gravity and fire
she refuses to wash you off as
her aroma penetrates your sweat and desire and fear
though, in the course of time
you may find that you are left
in bits and pieces on the road
while love continues on
you will never, ever, be rid of the stench of love

the thief

There are small, still moments
when I am willing to see
days and years evaporate
the stories of triumph or failure fall apart
like so much ash
and the growing tale of my self creation fades
then only pain and beauty remain
unmeasured and unbound

perhaps you too have seen in this way
where all distinction becomes trivial
where your senses combine alchemically
into some greater sense
perhaps you know if this is where a god would live
for myself, I have not lived as a god
I fear to go where such love would drive me
I fear the cost of such sight
and so, steal only glances at divinity
and dream of melancholy ambrosia

Untitled

much as i would wish, there are no earthquakes
no rippling of the earth that would move me from here to there
no uncontrollable shaking to destroy the facades built over decades
nor are there tsunamis to sweep away my life as it is
no flood to replace the topsoil, to wash away habits embedded like ancient roads through the landscape

i am, instead, a worm, burrowing through the cracks
slowly churning a small sample of this familiar thought or that unconscious glance
i am a bee, searching for a scrap of nectar, hoping to seed new blossoms along my incomprehensible journey

there are no glittering keys to unlock the mystery of my workings
there is, the simplicity of working, the step by step, the sublime intensity of trying again
and here I lean into the unknown,
Into the fear that has become my North Star
Into the darkness that wants a ray of light

sudden change is built on ten thousand curious steps
carved from desperate moments and despair
Into our flesh, as wind and water shape mountain peaks
ten thousand storms fathered the avalanche, and each of the numberless tears are its mother

as if

I don’t want to be alone
I want intimacy
I want to experience, together
as if two sets of eyes were one
as if the sweet pangs of beauty born were a cup to be shared
as if we were truly I

I don’t want to be invisible
I want to be transparent
as if light and I were so alike that shadows found no purchaser
as if shame did not solidify my marrow
as if there were some respite from my self

I don’t want to end
I want to transform
to become more, without losing that essential core
as if I am not merely a collection
as if I am some how less
as if the great mystery could remain unsolved

I don’t want to be alone
as if I were

sohbet

this is why i am willing to dive, headlong, into another
this is why i dance
why 3am comes and i am wide awake
why i will wade into a crowd of unfamiliar faces
why i write these words
in the determined place between a word and a glance
in the deliberate turning toward exposure
in the silent sohbet that grows
between our moving and our stillness
in the conversation only bodies can hold
my own vaults are opened
and the kindness within me finds breath

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”