These things possible to have been said
ive uncurled in a swallowed sound
as I am of you and slightly the other
my name follows the shadow of yours
catches shade in a valley of bees

we are meant to move forward without assistance
but lacking little light i turn and hide

you have worn many names and faces, sir
to say you are undisciplined is a love of lies
your expectation wavers with the sky turning
what they all worked hard for stops

night mountains, a sharp silence

no longer a child
orphan, stoic, doctor, sir

firstborn
first abroad
first lost

as a child, he spoke as a child

abba
aboji

distance is relative, hinged
joints bend where other spaces would break
forced into a posture
object
stars move slowly across the face

this is now something recognized on a screen

I am to say
who was but until the present never could be

I see and hear everything
I see and hear you

speak as simply as you can
without fire these words nearly sleep
the distance between

a shade platform
a hindered announcement
faces fanning in the heat

louder than the eyes having it
louder than the deer giving up its secrets on the tree

quietly we crawl under our covers
the house stands still after hours of unrest
delicate as folding screens these turns burn our faces

we will hear and we will see but we will not speak

broad light of day is a hard release
dark ambient mover
destiny holds swirling gates ajar
swallowed in the thousand flight
sun walkers collecting miracle sound engines a storm

lacking necessary endings
mystery transforms night into illusion
familiar object outland delivers

sight objects unearthing sound


na
nabi
nun
white
what lies


lost as a child
I spoke
sighted in the scrim and flash...
I sway

You stand on the front walk
of an almost forgotten house
a leaf that will not open
Reach out to me now
through the torn veil of language

love child
retracing the steps to an intersection without a stop sign, waiting.
hidden fated past in the face the mirror casts, history likes to repeat itself.
back on the block to remember names and connections.
distances away, i remember gaps. arriving in a black cloud of delay and
indifference; the smoke clears.
family makes me resemble the redemption of their last memory.
history is made up of someones memories and people remember what they want.
the lines of life whine in their strife while the heart creates an oasis
of old things, collected for rainy days and memory haze.
I knew myself before I spoke of the good times. the disconnected chords of
past didnt prevent a present from becoming a past.
whether its memoir or lineage, the old days are mysterious
occurrences that evolve into a sense of completion for my missing reason.
what follows me is the perpetual light of my shadow.
I come out like an essence, sometimes a simile of what others remember in others before me;
some sense of familiarity carries on the memories that comfort whats forgotten to
take me into the next moment and so on.
birth alone isnt a part of me, but its the extension of the tree,
I have never seen, will always search for; that's life.
I find myself here and wonder how much do I
need to know in order to know why and does it matter. my
destination isnt known, but the
fare is due, what is it to you?

Is his life the tune of his human hands quiver
as they play out rhythms at his shoulders
in a refrain that comes to nothing more
than drumming of nervous architecture
to the straight on stare of strangers and friends
which mixes the past with what now comes myth
in a man that is buried from within
by the loss decreed sanctimonious...?
The very tremble of his hands excused
in order to show his capacity
to feel beyond the blur of his present.
For continuum weighs sympathy. There
is not sin in the baring of these days
that can calm this man to strains of humanfold

Some time when the river is ice ask me of what mistakes I have made.
Ask me whether what I have done is my life...or to be...

i.
Heading south people change and it seems, by degrees
imperceptible over decades. In this place
the small 'i' looks into flight theory
for a bird out of season. Life as a rule
consists of evidence, the gentle breeze
or the gale force, it leans on faith
towards chance with the family,
the friends & the lovers you take
a shine to. A belief that obscene amounts
of change alarms, if the people
you love will change with you.
But the saddest day is the one
where you find youve changed too
much and us not nearly enough.

ii.
Wing stretches the log fire burns, all through
a sleepless stretch of evening.
The small 'i' re-working words
is hemp loose, as ideas fall
with the passions onto paper.
At 4 a.m. body exhausted, walking
outside smoking another.
Plumes tickle and rise in the head,
drift from the hand and the mouth.
Theres a mounting chipper of birds all
about, they rustle and stir in the bush
behind. Drawn closer, no doubt
by the sweet stench that floats
thick, in Kanimblas subzero air.

iii.
Air spirals as its the vertigo and the wind
that gets me, holds me reticent
just one step away from the edge.
From the top of this plateau,
its a sheer drop into silence and
the cavernous mystery beneath.
The valley is fluted in layers of mist,
a scene stealer for the tourist and
the small 'i' alone on the stone
ledge of so vast an expanse.
Catching wits and breath,
I recall a friend having said that
a mountaineer once
saw god on K2s summit.

iv.
Weightless flight theres experience in that possibility,
in that solitary view of the infinite.
Precipitation clears from the valley
as birds and bird song wing
through the sunfiltered clouds.
And just beyond the falls
two iridescent rainbows form
the perfect tricolour arcs.
The sky is winter blue and enormous.
The small 'i' subdued, watches day
pass and the sun shine on the valley.
Considers how easy the choice
to take one step out and glide
weightless on air currents.

v.
Tail feathers and vegetation grow lush all the way
down through the pathway.
The legs winds the slim web of road
until it flattens out into brush country.
Horses graze close to the Tea Rooms
where theres hot food and a fire.
This valley less up close
less imposing than the view
from the top plateau suggests.
On the way back up echoes
of parrots and lyre.
The weather ominous as feathers
float with the snowfall when birds
lift from the trees and are gone.


vi.
Skyways in the old adobe home fire
warms flesh while the heart
beats slow and the small 'i' wonders
'where exactly in this anatomy
do wings fit?' In the cerebellum,
which itself feels nothing
synapses spark and push
memorys sharp edges
into tissue of the heart
or the head with no reply.
It makes no difference, what
the small 'i' decides - as just
because they can, birds will
stretch out their wings and fly.

what can
unsteady a person
bring her falling
into the deepest sky?
she swims
inside dreaming
lets go
of possibility
makes dizzy the first
bone-dry second
then blueness…



*



her eyes let go
of every surface
resemble
every weather
she is everywhere
arms floating in blue

We will change the music for you. It will look like a field of buttercups, and sound like dinnertime.

a six-inch patch of life redemption

Si lo que has encontrado
Fue formado por materia pura
Nunca se pudrirá
Y tu puedes volver un día
Si fue solo un momento de luz
Como la explosión de una estrella
No encontraras nada cuando regreses
Pero habrás visto una explosión de luz.
Y esto solo ya habrá valido la pena
PC

A huluppa tree had been planted on the banks of the Euphrates
which is okay if you understand botany, distant locations
or even the prehistoric culture of dress codes because Gilgamesh
only wore animal skins which makes him sound eccentric
the way the flesh of the gods resided in his body and his face
was the face of one long journey followed by another.
It wasnt simple like tripping or waiting for the next day when he
could decipher unintelligible dreams. They had to have esoteric
meaning but all Gilgamesh would say was we must treasure
our dreams whatever the terror. He never mentioned what frightened
him or if he suffered nightmares as a child, waking in a cold
clammy bed which is understandable if his insides writhed with gods
lending delusional wings otherwise his wife would never
have had to say I need to touch this man to wake him.

I tremble beneath
frilly- Four fingers
in- Others entering
through- An excuse
for constant-
new york quarterly

there might be dedications determined by the disciplined music of a thousand looms but what kind of day means another melodious shift...? ive been training my left arm to glimmer and am already accustomed to the heat of the forge....yet as for flames i head in all directions of yellow turning orange turning away...my gaze...and the watery foundations.
but love, if you were a globe, i could place a finger and match equator to longitude, then gather the topography into a fistful of embers. you might have brought the other motion with you, maybe you did draw three broad Xs across our earth. and i might have touched fingertip to fingertip, climbed the hill and surprised the city...but
alkali junction exists now in that field of our core.

Language is the place of the mind
as Space is the place of the body.

Hair dripping, as it were, south, while the ice-blue
neon of your mouth hisses letters through the rain.

To speak is to desire. So the gods judge.

The heart, an organ of fire. my fruit.
The soul, nail-bed as my gift.

You, ocean curved
exhale—as Im the wavewashed
shell at your throat
You remember as...
well...
as sand

And yes...you loosen my knees cartilage
and yes...
I swirl in the whorl of your fingertips
and no...
I want to swallow whole your scallopladen hair
your whole pink carnations
I want to slide
my breathy self home

Ive forgotten how to say what I need in the language of my mother's mother's mother.

Wait...Touch my tongue. And
yes, touch my tongue. And no, touch the small
of my back. Lovely one.

Between the sheets
Seaweed and Doorways
You shed
We gasp
our breaths
brim.
Listen,
the tracks we lay
across each others skin
cut summer grass, evaporating
salt, driftwood...
once again...
as sand

Discuss: pebbles and sand castles.

The difference is
closing the space between
our bodies

but...

Love,
the back of your
mouth is visible and it is as delicate
as mushrooms, caves,
or even moths that come out
at night after painting sugar
on tree bark, feathery,
blanched and translucent
from flashlights

Had I
a hundred tongues yours
would be the kindest and
most radiant: the last
time I saw anything shine so blue....

fathers , dresses , gods



what do you wish for?

the heart leaps the heart opens the heart
closes the heart grieves

it becomes it sinks
into your palm it believes

I have seen you with my tongues mouth flower

acacia blossoms in the time of three
foot snow this mild
spring winter

when I dream men it is always you
no longer

does it mean Ill wake
up making poppies in a crush of white
its pure...

us loving in our barely there
adult twin bodies blue and dark

delight in our delight
buds blazing
but when I dream of women it is always I

delighting to delight

i wonder if im losing who i am with each word i speak as another one known as her

No me juzguen si me gusta el vino
si me gusta el fuego
cuando está despierto

No me juzguen porque duermo
con una lechuza
y la ventana
de par en par
abierta.
No se preocupen si un día
voy de viaje
dentro de mi misma—
granos de arroz
me traerán de vuelta.

Y no me juzguen
si amanezeco
despacio
despedirme de suennos
toma mucho tiempo.

Are the flowers youve brought to the surface to wake me, are they heavenly flowers, are they an excess of petals, oblivious turn to abundance, the ground of the flower.

Is the aspect of sweetness compressed into sea-water breath, as one would bring air to the surface, my shoulders are wet, if this were a pool...

Would I feel a flower so similar to aberrations of color descending to roses, as I would so love to be changed from my likeness to what would parallel our equity.

His kiss is just a whisper passed through the salvos juxtaposed with sacredness albeit sans configuro repealants morphity ping prongless saturelment acre-ease my chinstrap en route to grass courts, my glass skirt challenging the light of gravitys hospitable brick fossil path.

Play the oceanic form of cradle in amazed left-justified machine inclusive of slip covers and Jurassic lullabilia. So many prose glyphs numen their way sofaward. Until collaborative safety moans into unwanted facial hair of someone salty in the month of Junes apres-midi continually lurking east of nest points in the fois gras of contagious dithers who becomes important to have touched within the tone row bylines of an apple aimed at teachers desktops scattered through the temporary building.

The earth is yours & everything thats in it.

I have learned to piece scraps from whatever washes ashore to build driftwood and rocks into intricate gardens. There are times i cry out and sink roots although keeping my eyes close i am pragmatic and adept sacrificing that which rubs to snip away tangled love knots where new growth can flourish stretching from old scars I am surprised by the volunteer who suddenly appeared disrupting my orderly planting bed blooming his heart out.

Deepness is a metaphor belonging to those who beckon all they seek into the vicinity of the imagination. A flower from the theatre. A passionate rural howl. Controversy with style. Ignorance of sleep as if being awake had somehow more virtue. In reality, there are those who see the deep and the shallow as part of the same view. Landscape is perspective. And vice versa. Insight has your dimensions.

words vanish on water
fine polished stones in the palms of a great magician

have you forgotten how to call forth...?

the wind is vast yet concise
it shifts the current sideways
picks up just enough sand to thinly blanket my eyes
& plays with the feathers of birds
like a teasing older beloved

only the clouds remain unmoved

a white gardenia in a blue breeze floats by
my love sleeps powdered sweetly on a sheet
a cascading youth nuzzles at my heart
kisses my navel disguising desires

people litter the shore
too many for the waves to carry
too lost & shameless to burrow beneath the sand as crabs
too large to fit into the mouths of gulls

they have forgotten how to know themselves

the magnified light of the sun
burns a hole in my chest
whole chest
where once a smooth polished stone lay -
now disappeared

like words
beneath
the ocean floor

With the clouding factor of being here
in this brilliant light opposite being with you
the blue bouncing as love gone crazy around
the room I stand on the scales at sea level
with all the gravity I can muster divide by ten
and multiply by seven to approximate my liquidity
that was once and will always be pure cloud I read as
thirtysix litres of cloud potential thirtysix
litres of ebullient cumulous rising lapping
through the water cycles I will be nimbus,
stratus, cirrus, altos, storm and ice. Sooner
or later you and me we'll mix we'll rise
condense as one, travel and rain apart
our water content more permanent than the DNA
that imprints face bones codes
for muscle to tilt the head that might revert
to thinking about clouds that needs a body
to bear it. Little squirls of me unwinding helices
of us subsets swimming to extinction
while our enduring water returning cloud
shaped will outlast all organic parts of us

Conjured spoken there is when this place is a blaze
The arc of the dancer speaks to the remembering one
With you there is open visibility to the wind
There is no justice if there cant be peace
& there is always peace
The wind it speaks in triangles
Speaks in circles and squares
In the wind there is a presence of dark & the light of Ma
Of war of justice of peace
In the wind there are the particles of life
That make up the particles of breath
Of death of green and blue & spirit & fruit & moon
Of trail & entrails of trials of holocaust & ceremony
Of silence between the silences of noise within the noise

In the Wind there is a presence
An unseen force that unites us to the earth
An unheard force that unites us to the trees
An unforced presence that unites us to the clouds

In the mouth there is the understanding of tongues
A pastoral untangling
In my breath there is the wind that binds us to the sky
That brings us toward the storm
That wraps us in its eye
That levels us to the ground
& makes us beholden
& humbled
& held in its presence

in the wind there is darkness & light

& particles of man and beast and breath and death and justice and joy

The great mystery
Jaya sleeps inside me
My identity becomes a web of cherry blossoms
Sing oh sound oh speculation
Sing oh nights untiring tune

Its when the one without the hop becomes an outsider
The one without the vision is crazy
Its when the one without guidance is no longer a communicator
When the one who hears clear is called blind
Its when those who exist in everything are considered the simple
And those who run far are simply blossoming
Its when then that we know we all know
Its then that we know we must change

We all feel together that the healing has begun
We all feel together that the this can be overcome
We begin to feel what this is all about
This phenomenal this the place that we come from

Jaya still sleeps inside me

There is this box called paradise with one bright star locked deep within it
There is the labyrinthine skyline zigzagged w/lines of entangled sky
There is this dark light this cold burning sunset
All these who wanna be interlaced
All these mornings elaborate within a pound of grey matter
And this yawning spider sings to turn away

In the wind there is a presence a knowledge to deep to be spoken
Magic and even in my dreams clouds that have every reason
We are our reason
It is not the first time dream catcher

You can spend a lifetime in riding the waves
Spend moments here and feel like youre at home

The wind winds thru me picking up pieces of us and joining us to all others
The moon shifts inside me spoken onward and I understand
The wind picks up the moon one too many mornings I fell
Old scra only as the circle
is where the line will be drawn
when with the dusk
we meet the dawn

do fish sing?
connection of bone to flesh
Rejoicing the music
connection of bone to flesh

in the wind there is a presence roots paths owl eyes

tasting and smelling and hearing and seeing

this is talk of equality...as i follow winding you say hello

Mysteries cannot be proven is love truly enough?
Magic is not localized
Language is not singular

Jaya sleeps inside me In the wind
There is a presence sheltered by every human, every someday, every lily or elephant / do fish sing?

Do fish sing?
Connection of bone to flesh

The oldest tree
Laughed when I asked
Shake with it
Sing to it
With it
You are a very old tree
A rain travels through you
Low cold high heat a wind
The effect of the sacred upon the sacred

We are the receivers
Thru us the total is realized & released
We are the channels
We teach each other and ourselves
We learn from all

Remembering jaya sleeps inside me &
I can speak to something other than the moon

The wind in the wind there is a presence
I go blindly into the wind

The sky is blue concrete
We arrive whole bodies into the prism
Embodied within the origin
Turning into mirrors of water
Facing a lavishing sun
Man
Created within the abundance of colors
Though nothing is without color
Like nothingness itself
In glorious gold & silver
We rejoice in the hands

A connection of flesh to bone

He realized he was his body
And that his body carried him
He realized he was his body
And his body was carried by him
These are created
By the candles in the dark
When the colors show on
a passing afternoon

Freedom jaya sleeps inside me
I plunge into myself and awaken heaven

I dare to believe
light LIGHT
As I am
I am light
We arrive in the light whole bodies
Angels arrive by the river
A river of angels arrive
Light I will always be light
As for in the wind there is a presence
Sleeping soundly inside me
As we all dream of this light

I dream amongst the blues & pinks the earth-encrusted browns & pale yellows
I live in light every day
There is never an absence of light
Never an absence of darkness either
Do not be misled by the moon
Do not be misled by your reflection
Who do you see in the mirror?
Who do you greet today?

Color is a glass eye an eye in a glass in a wooden box a black box with a star in it
Color is tea for two a universal magic an apple as it ripens
An incandescent voyeur a decadent drunk
A gentleman a woman of circumstance a space between the bars
The seasons blending into each other
In the wind there is a presence
A spectrum
A soul
Where sand turns to glass
A color that sings of its birthright
As the connection of truth or question

In facing
the face faces us
we see light and
in light a sea
of particulars a face
we see bodies forth
open and opaque
it calls us
ourselves

we forego
in the realm of
sensuous there is not
a first experience of
ego its image apogee

every face his face
only I see he
defys his pleasure
he alarms he divides
he can neither partake
nor participate

My response
resound with redundancy
In facing the face
pain in your pain
forego ego Be
a - cross threshold
Echo Be Echo

What I will give you
since you asked
lilies wild
midst seas of grass
shining lights all your days
This is what
I give,
what I ask of you
is nothing
I am blessed
by the smallest...
of lifes attentions.

Ring
Hugged gravity of the gibbous
this perfect circle a chipped white plate
its center pale reached the compass leg
enscribing silvery thought red to violet
surrounding bow. How is the world
broken turning in stillness not our moon?

Rising
So large...the tide roiling the sea-wound
and broil like a dream afraid our moon
near. A pale basket being hauled
into the sky beginning a separation
the amazed heart swelling a redness
failing in the west our breath caught up.

Full
What I carry with me from the North
fallen into a glittering field
of sea the waters many small instincts
the timid openings of memory.
Whatever I was, whoever you
are, dolor of luna origins
all around us this stripping off this
pallor as we step out of our names...

adamant and beautiful
with worlds sleeping in our palm
playing in the dark changing into a game
of the day disclosing circle
i fall asleep and wake up
in a land where above
citrus fruit haze rises up the spiral
acceptance of inhaling and exhaling
by the vast water with its mystic bounce
and Im filling up...with every moment
i grasp more and more space
and life in it
throwing the dice i belong
i have love for the same reason
that you are in every raindrop
washing away and rousing silence
in our eyes where several suns are holding
one another with no arms...there...and here
playing in the dark turning into a festival of the light
with you...(always)...with a single breath
as its center.

The space between
the inhale and the
exhale is not so much

a pause as it is a Link

a
thread
between

what has been
and
what will be

and that is where
you reside in me

i coalesce
with ease
from breath
to breathing

its sheen
fixes krsna
to speech: a
man can

elevate himself
by his
own mind,
breath to

breathe and
knowing.
benign then
motive

bloods run
thudding
thick & thin
in the waters

deliverance
loves
and
creation

what we shall say
is that,
under sense,
they

cut through the
storms
slipping
clean, away

to the divine
numbering
one to nine
allowing you

to believe
with uniqueness
the way
I remain

A held breath
begins the poem
of our making

and unmaking-nights drifting
between many days. The sea
was calm, its music impossibly

translated. Flames
curl like waves, or was it
that these waves
curl like flames?


*

Travel homeward
seemed to
dream, such a
foreign affair
made no
grace of
misgiving. When
the door
with its
beautiful narrator
shook her head
then proceeded
"Our
other
selves, being similar
but
away,
remain
awake to
the sparks,"
united, then untied.


*

Hello again but in reverse
to the far-flung alarm
of stars through a window.

This sleep whose disheveled night
untunes your island, Shalom.

Silver eyes and hair and
the roaring heavens your definitions of water
pretermit.


*

Impossibly-translated water, I disappear:

Water impossibly translated as "the path
that leads away from itself." What the knight saw
could be implausibly translated as "I study,
I make out your face through my stare."

Even the most imperfectly rendered water
flows downward, widening, wearing away its ground
in the free.


*

Unless patterns pursue themselves like waves,
unless patterns…unless they
pursue themselves….unless
waves…well
sea-light will not be cajoled,

into sufficient distraction
except on condition you explain realism under the temples:
offering to water
wilderness of water
rivers fluctuating in quarter tones
reservoir to be read as temporary relief

and the same assuming your place in the book
of perpetually seeking flow.


*

He eyes her eyes,
starminded.


*

Sleeping ends by melting
itself into dizzy eye-journeys
arousing a seal, light to light.

Begin
comparing abstracts
on pleasure, passing birds
from hand to hand.


*

What one dreams
the other describes:
a mirrored water,
unmade breath.

Mischievous weather
weve been having,
Abounding distances

impossibly translated
on this drier tongue
as the capitol of Mists.

At dusk I can see myself alive
In your pupils
Floating inside the blue bands
The little piece of sky you keep hidden
As I take in your skin...Your neck
Smells like the dew on blossoms
and as You carry the ambers of India
Under my covers
I unravel into a thousand honest pieces
Watching you come toward me
because Your nights climb my spine
and This bed is too big
For the rope that we wind into

My favourite memory of us
is of that day we had woven each others hair,
standing in the waterfall
of the nevermore, that moment sweet
succulent as fruit, complete as
a circle, the prowl of knowledge beneath
it bitter and delicate as the powder
on a butterfly wing, powerful
as a secret.

Do you remember what I had
said to you, soon before? How could
I not love you? How could I
not? We had just met. You had
a birthmark the shape of Africa
on your chest; you never knew this,
as my heart had a void in its vocabulary
just the size of your name.
Love is so small.
It could fit into the hole in a bead, the eye
of a needle, and still not seal it.

So I will continue to
wrap my secrets in skin and
hug them close,

imagine drawing out parabolas
of steel and silk from the centre
of my palm to the
centre of yours, like bridges,

delicate, taut
as the webbing
on a bats wing,

and Wait for you to reach
across the distance and pick
the pieces up, so precise
I could almost taste those
kisses

slippery as our love. Almost
forget how imprecise to desire bringing
shape to a love like water–
profound, perfect, universal.

This is the Master of heaven, who is like unto Venus and the
moon, and this is the house of Love, which is without bound and
end.

Rumi

sculpture
moon
abyss

sun
bird
star

strangers in a hidden world

I see two blue dragonflies hovering, end
to end, above a pond, as if twisting
the iridescence deep into each other's
body, abdomens writing, spiraling

into the wing-beaten air. And your voice
comes back to me through the trees, this word
for what we couldn't help but do
to each other -- a thin sigh, unwinding.

Love means you breathe in two countries

what if you were able
to know what I have felt
when powered by the way
we are made
I have felt all of my body
its excess and its strength
thrive up to the creation of my middle
spine steepling to bring me closer
to the speed of native energy
to share that
with you
would be a divine relation

It may have been Lyon we met in
or som odar city north enough
to dim at midday when a cloud
lay over

I had said one word and
you were of mi mind to be
come summer latening time with me
how we went

or wound up on an
arizona mountain I did not
have to know when I woke to your
trim expose

we were already
quenched it seemed but you fed me choc-
olate with love and let me use
your teeth for ball

I did not
dare to plan or yet
even though this was mine
and we had arrived
eye to eye

you were off alone to
climb the mountains which i did not deso-
late nor did I wonder why I
only watched through the windows

you carried an
animal in your arms
but what mattered most was to
drive to the top

an surprise the moons
or...not in that we had
agreed without a word I would say
what I meant was

a love too good to be
talkative we could trust in to
lengthen a moment beyond known reach
I started
up to where I would
meet you

have not reached it yet but I
know who you were and you know as i would like to be

Oxygen feeds a flame.

So I invite you to breathe down my neck.

Your heart is flying, he said
his weight against her chest
It does that, she said
drawing him in

Last night I could hear mi divine being called
and i awoke unbounded finally free
allowing of nuestro cielo
calling out to me

Remembering libre a
etherealize as to call each others names
into another strange land
in the hopes of this strength
blossoming into roots...

Remembering asilo
the roots so deep
sustain not the thorny leaves, surely
but what lights underneath
a reason to put our hands
deeper into each

Remembering siempre
I will always prefer to travel
the long way home
so that beauty will be an island
sung from el alma del m a usted

Remembering pureza
I will sing escatimando
what is holy is circular
what is holy bends
what is holy,
is kind

Remembering InI
The eagle has flown
the stars are out
luminoso sabio
i can hear the voice
i can hear the seas

Remembering InI
If you cant find me
Search the skies
I am empty
I am complete

moving over forest gold
i wish you were an owl
gliding slowly into the night
to see you pass the big silver moon
and watch as your wings
swim the current
of our interlaced soul

do you prefer the deep rise of natural evening
to ride the current of the earth
as if inertia the steam of its own propelling?
do you too possess that boundless energy?
energy of what? of affinity! of pestilence!
...it is unavoidable...
i am both

so...tell me
tell me so...
what do you hear when the sun comes descending
when the rain stops...and starts...and stops again?
I know you hear afar this
silence
I know your feet dont understand our
stillness

I think what we need now is to learn how to stand next to the fire
while oustide the children can giddy-up in piles of sun-shine
pretty as pitter & putter being thwarted from my path
but desire, as you get in the way of this
you sharpen my senses like an aged noctiluca in the lambent.

and I am frail against your power but
I could shatter you against the wind
clop you knowing things will eventually make sense
had I the tools
and the daring energy
had I eternity to complete the task
and a brigade of soldiers to lift me each time I fell.

Love, your fire is not in the form of beloved ones, those dynasty creators,
or blue eyes that bring simple companionship and laughter
Your fire is the unannounced lover
that leaves in my skin the imprint of desire
that does not know how to go on staying in peace
that slowly inflames my life.

A bandit, you watch the bed of passion all night
and flee with new eyeballs once trust has been given
Embezzler of harmony, instiller of aflutter venom:
desire, let me be...

Leave me to the songs I have always been singing
for they are songs
that do not whimper
when the last note
is sung:
Leave me the songs that do not fear their own ending
and can therefore
be belted
as if despair
has never won.

I captured his appetite
tasted it

and regardless of his
demands

I wont give it back
until we are full

levitate over the torso
induce the confusion like
asphyxiate
reciprocate

love for loves sake

conversations get filtered like sand
stare;
study the eyes
dont just look

try to figure out
why im the first one
discovered
at the end of every night

platform of love
I pull myself away from the edge

You dont know me but
we trapeze anyway
tomorrow more
unpredictability & freedom
tomorrow or the next day
or the day after that
all i know is
Today
is an acrobat

i speak once of steeping feet in the seven seas
of illuminating them there to oceanid him
to create sheets of white luminous
so that these bodies will become edible
submerged in effervescent brilliance
make it so and skin turns a new glow
softening as you seep slowly in
as my cells remember i forgive
so that we now immerse ourselves
apathy has nowhere else to sit
it will never requiem he repeats
though he still doesnt know
i often hear the same declaration
reversing in anothers simplicity
to luminescence my light...mirrored
as always breathing in his glare
i find my love transitioning clouds
waist deep in his inane
i gungaroo across blue fields
meandering the world gypsi
straying on the limniads edge
returning some times in time
for a door aching wide in the sky
and the moon setting free
played perfectly
in the neighbours tree
suddenly remembering air
or just how it all could be

Yo sueño que regreso
un día cualquiera
to the pleasure of letting
the earth slip through my fingers
Yo vivo en permanente exilio
when I dream
I can only speak in tongues of desire
when I dream
of stretched bodies as my island
awaiting mi
Yo puedo perderme en las prominencias
de tu cuerpo
in the sugar cane flavor of your tongue
in the dark cinnamon color of your gaze
Yo puedo perderme rozando tus riberas
like a wave
piérdase dentro de usted
Yo sólo sueño que regreso
I can only speak in the tongues of desire
en vuelo
from your body

what is tucked between entangled hair
and the moment somewhat marvelous
is the truth that there is nothing
between us except for us

the light can surely see us
as there is a hum
beating...a glow
but all one hears
is the sea
upon nearby rockiness
and voices
which chorus
through the floating nights
the sky...white
dashing with gleam
the moon melting...
through the horizon
where my vibrant mica star
glints your pearls
blissfully sweet