how to express this,
with no words strung into poetry,
but to exhort your eyes
from the terror of remembering,
outshooting from the grass,
there along hills and plains,
their wild flames raging
among violets and purple dead nettles,
now say my heart is the soil –
and this is its rejoicing
….how then to feel this heart beat as if imprisoned
in my chest,
I would live as variously as
the flowers in spring
(and still a flower be)
….or the hummingbird…or….or then a tree….
more than eyes to me would concede,
free from a
My hands to no
Swords and stratagems
I engorge on silence;
And for days there is no contact
With the outside world.
I straddle slowly, closely the winding banks of rivers, the mirror of my own veins.
I avoid the hinterlands, rife of noises and competitions;
And in the
Mist one morning
Will laugh at a distant madness.
We are never more than walking distance or a few miles away from the ocean,
just beyond the hills,
the canopies of trees,
backdrop to every act of living.
her soft breaths lull us into the pleasant realms of dreams,
though now to free upon the remnants of all that has gone missing;
this is not farewell,
the sea again becoming sea
Before I pull the curtains,
How odd that the birds are silent.
And you carry upon your breath
the demise of
Of a friend
Of a friend.
And it is a mirror,
A tightrope of sadness
This beautiful, fleeting intangibility
There in season,
Sky as blue as hope,
Ripened leaves red before falling,
One anteroom of darkness,
another of light,
I dilemma’d in dreams between
But saw her beauty on the other side
You were an axe against
I heard you once at 4am,
until the rushing wave of darkness
came back to