The Bloom

In breaking light, cracks open,
a crumbling shell, easily
opened like distant clouds
drifting into pairs. And earth

dark history who buries men
and wolves, down a thousand miles
down where even shadows quickly
suffocate, disappear. What of glory,

the start of spring, a sweet
blood-smell clinging to leaves,
the sleeping root, the porous stones?
Again, the unheard resurrection of

our souls, the sprout, the bloom.

Though You are Fading

I have loved and still I am
afraid. Look at stars buried
in their sky; one part light,
the other sleeplessness.

Night, the house where hearts
are laid to rest; our fathers
walked away and we were left
to find eachother. Like stars

always in their beds, imagined
or otherwise, making light or
stealing it. Remember, that we
had loved and that will save us.

The Bullet

It took milliseconds
for the bullet to

leave the barrel.

It knew like kingfish
plunging seaward, it knew

of destination.

In that target's
plea for attention

where metal meets

soft tissue, thin plates
of bone, receives its guest,

abandoned what it had
owned and fell.

Save Yourself

I build a ladder to your heart;
each rung a journey into darkness.
I cannot save you from yourself
or me from sadness.

There is a place filled with light,
instinctive and wild. It's not easy
to survive its scorching heat. I
cannot save you from your weakness

or me from truth.

Waiting for the Angel

They are waiting for us.
First to seal the soul
inside its skein. Secondly,
to tie us to our dreams.

Even love can sin, sleepless
and lonely, uncovered, enduring.

Lastly, they swoop down,
a great winged bird to rip us
from our beds. This is
just the beginning.

Remember

In the distance (where we always are)
a train horn wails. It is a lonely

sound like a renegade wolf from
some far off hill. Both are calling:

one to warn, the other to will itself
into the consciouseness of others.

This time there is an answer though
its language is foreign. Steel

and fur are not so different. When
we are born, we know how to cry;

our relationships are real and pure.
As we get older, more silent pauses,

introspection that leads to guile.
On a bed in Kansas, I hear coyotes

a mile away, the whip-poor-wills,
the crickets as they strum their legs

and in the distance a train horn.

Then, I Dreamt You

In the language of light,
I tell the stars: wait for me.

The woman in the shadows of a room
with her heart on fire is me without you.

My hands, scorched from reaching
too far, burn like wood, like gasoline,

like paper. And I remember who came
to my rescue, a creature of night,

all teeth and wings, claws and blood.
Now I wish I had not dreamt you or

trusted that you'd let me live.

A Miracle

I can stand on a cliff or
down below the waterline
and still see God. Once,
I saw a woman jump off
a bridge. I could not
stop her. There are good
ways to live and bad ways
to die. Who will forgive
the desperate? What weight
surrender? For myself, I
keep my eyes half-open like
a wolf at night. I keep
my heart in its bony shell;
I train my wings like a
migratory bird. I stand
on the bridge like a miracle.

Twilight

The woods are burning. Fields
are burning. Beautiful red ruins
of dusk blazing into blossom.

What do I know of death, of dying?

Light has closed her drowsy eyes,
climbs into the black-veined branches,
quickly dies. A golden-shadowed moon

stirring up the speckled moth, graceful
multitudes of crane fly, midnight flowers.
Night takes them all into its mouth

without a conscience, swallows.

The Satyr

Humour me, I asked the beast,
sit and speak awhile. In my eyes
curiosity, in his a wily smile.

What is man? I asked him.
He spat into his open hand,
rubbing dirt into the spittle-
This is man.

What is life? I asked him.
This is easy to explain, he forced
my hand into the fire,
Life is pain.

Gifted

In my youth I was a long sleep,
a coma, a darkness. At night
my ghosts would come with
hatchets and knives, an army
of thieves who swindled my faith.

One by one I called their names:
pride, hunger, love, terror. One
by one I cut their arteries before
they had severed mine completely.

Let them lie like reddened stones.

Now I am a woman, healthy,
bright eyed; my heart has healed,
fog has lifted. See how clear
the senses sweeten with passing
time? I am alive, alive and gifted!

Sand

We are human, tiny flecks
of sand among many sands,
our small bodies intimate with
the world, the sea, the sun;

our lone journey out into
oceans, nudged and pulled,
then discarded hurriedly
on strange and distant shores.

Even shells, their pearly
mouths, pink and violet eyes
are touched invisibly and
kissed by salty waters.

When evening comes, sky
a million colors, it is
our prayers and constancy
cements us to eachother.

Midnight Rider

This is psychological. In a dream
that is not a dream I rise from

my blankets and there are wolves
blackened faces, wire-like fur,

their light-soaking eyes follow me
to the field where we keep horses.

A two year old quarterhorse I raised
myself, anticipates our midnight rides,

his long slender legs, thick muscled
neck, beautiful velvet nostrils

blowing ice-cold mist. And here
we are, species who could not be

more different. Here beneath
the blackened sky, the moon

a jealous spectator we gallop
and fly like a single organism

clinging to eachother.

Stay Awake, my Heart

I don't want to sleep, tonight,
I know it will be the end of you.

And me, like some sad, old woman
who should have kept her eyes open,

like a wild brown owl focused on
a blind, oblivious victim. I want

to swoop down, tonight, a night
in the seasoned past, the night you

disappeared in cold, white flame
breaking my bones in the beak of

your mouth and never returned.

Sequestered

And I knew I would carry you,
ignorant of myself, even to that

last cold house whose doors
are frozen shut, whose windows

do not see out. I should be
grateful, then, that the you

have forgotten me, a prisoner
to myself. How could you

understand you have betrayed me
where love is some dark animal

dying in its steel-toothed trap,
the irony of mourning for

that which kills you?

Rituals

There, between us, your sinister gravity,
my immutable ritual of holding onto shiny
things even when they're useless and crude.

There is no confusion in our confusion.

A hundred times I have dismembered my love
for you. In four languages I write your name
in the shadows of sun, on the smooth black

river with its quiet, thoughtful stones.

What was once beautiful has been broken down
to pain, the anonymity of calling into darkness
and darkness explaining that you are not there-

my own body, a dying star, outlasting decay.

Catastrophic

You are a man. Nothing
but a man. A clot in the heart,
an aneurysm reaching maximum
pressure before tearing
the frail-walled vessel.

Then, you are a device
of death, an open red mouth,
a river of blood. How so
like wine, rich, sweet
intoxicating and love.

To Fail as a Flower

It is my face I pray you recall
when you are despondent. Like a room

you walk blindly, yet sure of where
the chairs are scattered. And every

line within your fingerprint filled
with knowledge of my neck, my shoulders,

the small cup of my back like some fragile
flower. When you pray, I hope you hurt

the way I hurt, when you cut me away.

The Clearing

I will not relinquish
what I have earned:

the right to admire
your beauty. Often

we are left without
souvenirs, clawing up

the mountains; even our
dewclaws ripped and torn.

In a small clearing,
you finally gave me

rest among the flowers,
birds to sing our songs,

strength to persevere
the long trek down.

The Unseen, Silent

We think we are above it,
tiny cracks of earth where
beetles lumber toward
the twigs, a cracked seed.

I've always thought
the unseen or the silent
holds the greatest secrets.

Pay attention to the wolf,
his head held down, his nose
a beacon towards mysterious.

Somewhere in his brain
the smell of life inspires,
keeps him riveted.

Laconic Beauty

It's time
to appreciate
beauty. Small

silver wings,
faint green and
and purple veins;

also the brief
temporal pause
as its heart

gives out.

I Am Finished

I am finished
with rivers and roses
and light, the one-eyed
moon, the large embrace
of sky.

Even, the sweet
mysteries of night,
I will not revisit.

Instead, a small gray
stone placed carefully
in its tiny jar, alone
to remind me of where
I came from.

Hospital Room

I saw his heartbeat
slowly fail. I was
an angel waiting

for collection.

And I said, softly
in his ear: do not panic,
you're taking me

with you.

The Blackened Drain

In a country of ants
there are many hills,
some man-made, others
by the wind or sea.

Who stands against
the ocean like a giant?

Whose trembling wings
challenge roaring winds?

In a universe of stars
there is much death, more
light and traveling round
and round the blackened drain;

in a quiet sky, the comets
streak like fire of the mind.

I Choose

To love or not to love
is not the question-

it's arrogance.

Some days we think we know,
then suddenly we don't.

Which is worse, to be
gutless or heartless;

to be darkness or lightness?

Neither singular state is favorable
to life. Of all the human plagues

and sacrifices, I choose love.