Dame Tu Mismo

I have been swimming in air,
dipping after luxurious waltzes.
I have been breathing upside down.

Opening to You is like lilies,
like suckling at the breast.
If only I were eyes, more eyes,

and more to love You with. 

London Burning

There may be a great fire in our hearts,
yet no one ever comes to warm himself at it,
and passers-by see only a wisp of smoke.
-Vincent Van Gogh


Behind Vincent's eyes was a vision of fire,
of London's clan-destiny, sure consummation
of towers and cobblestone, markets and monuments,
blazing.

Rollicking into the sky were the spires,
cathedrals and clocks wrapped in beautiful fires,
the cries of the people igniting
a chorus of praise.

Orchestral

inevitable

a final endeavor
that climaxed so suddenly, certainly, bloodily -
blinding the stars like the poppies
that burst on the mind with their violent

ecstasy

chemistry

heat, fuel, and oxygen
pounding again
in a howling refrain:

this was meant to be. 


Yet somehow it chilled on the tips
of his fingers, and Vincent was never relieved;
for the paintings that haunt us,
that wound us and taunt us,
are those that we never made. 

(Your Name Here)

I always write your name
in parentheses.
I want to protect you.
What you are is naked to the world,
it is ashamed of you,
you put it to shame.

Miss E

You stuttered words,
a sing-song muttering,
and even then you never
said my name;
"I love..." and that was all,
nattering, strapped to a lawn chair
in the sun.
I knelt before you, hand on your knee,
tea roses on your lap.

Summits

Every real thing

is a question, “Will you?”

a summit where we overlook the world.

And suddenly we understand

what courage is required for life .

Everything within, without us

cries incessantly

how resolute is truth,

how towering and resplendent;

take a breath.

Everywhere we go,

we go from arms to arms-

lingering like the sun

with a last look, a sigh

on shoulders.

This world, my soul,

my God,

heaven is my heart made large enough

to love You the way You deserve.

Cover Crop

Small bones,

multitudes of sins -

yours, mine, together.

Boiled down for broth,

choking in our throats.

Shovel over all,

cover in this heavy earth

the carcass,

bleached by sun,

buried deep now,

better left

to insects underground.

Forgiven. Not forgotten, 

but remembered only like the refuse in the soil -

collected, composted, recycled for
our better loves to grow.

Only for our better loves to grow.

Eating Violets

Butterfly in the sky,
I'm five years old
spinning in the kitchen
with a glass of milk.

I'm eating violets, Violet,
it's spring, I'm trembling,
does this always mean - ?

Rain and new channels,
unrain and otherworldly aches,
glittering,
budding green,
gasping at the tiny births
of fingertips.

Whose heart is this that that that
stole mine
one day in the garden,
one feverish night?

I gave, I give on giving
everything,
more than I have,
more than my body,
things thoughts
soul
which you made, and only
can condense, romance,
or enter by.