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.



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.


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.



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!


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.