It is clearer now, the horizon;
where we are going, where
we came from...
see how the sea reminds us,
trapped beneath the sky,
our journey is a narrow space
that stretches far beyond the light.
5/29/2005
Drinking Light (draft)
I knew the dark stranger
standing at my bed
would not understand
that (this) night
was not for sorrow...
outside, leaves have sprouted
from dead bark with small lips
drink light each morning...
my morning
still flowing
through the thirst of throat.
I will not pass the cup
just yet...
the light is alive.
standing at my bed
would not understand
that (this) night
was not for sorrow...
outside, leaves have sprouted
from dead bark with small lips
drink light each morning...
my morning
still flowing
through the thirst of throat.
I will not pass the cup
just yet...
the light is alive.
The Love of Night
She is beautiful when she walks away,
the graceful spine and sweeping hems of Day,
sky implores an image of her fleeting face,
pale blue eyes adrift in clouds of lace...
shoulders glowing polished alibaster,
haunted song of lark, her unearthly laughter
with timid smile returns the kiss of Dusk,
a patient wooer pacifying lust.
The rising moon, a yellow sapphire
ignites their slow and burning fire
in the bridal bed they lay-
the love of Night for ravished Day.
the graceful spine and sweeping hems of Day,
sky implores an image of her fleeting face,
pale blue eyes adrift in clouds of lace...
shoulders glowing polished alibaster,
haunted song of lark, her unearthly laughter
with timid smile returns the kiss of Dusk,
a patient wooer pacifying lust.
The rising moon, a yellow sapphire
ignites their slow and burning fire
in the bridal bed they lay-
the love of Night for ravished Day.
Heart of Earth
When we fall upon this ground,
till our shallow dimple down
through charcoal shoal-
form the walls, our concave bowl
burial of furnace-glazed porcelain souls.
Peculiarly divine our tomb,
flames immersed in soiled gloom,
glimmering of our lamps dispersed
into the gloaming of our birth,
becomes the heart of earth.
till our shallow dimple down
through charcoal shoal-
form the walls, our concave bowl
burial of furnace-glazed porcelain souls.
Peculiarly divine our tomb,
flames immersed in soiled gloom,
glimmering of our lamps dispersed
into the gloaming of our birth,
becomes the heart of earth.
Imperfectly Learned
My body moves or recites
something imperfectly learned
pulls one elusive thought
into the fading light-
a shadow
with its vision unwrapped.
something imperfectly learned
pulls one elusive thought
into the fading light-
a shadow
with its vision unwrapped.
Breaking Away
Many times fallen
at foot of that (same) mountain
became its root,
held there.
As incomprehensible,
moon falls from sky
all its silver bells
jangling inside-
irreparably damaged.
at foot of that (same) mountain
became its root,
held there.
As incomprehensible,
moon falls from sky
all its silver bells
jangling inside-
irreparably damaged.
5/28/2005
Wind Chimes
We are such embroidered creatures
all our fragile loose ends
unraveling to fiber...
our weave enriched
by knots of chaos,
a snarled net, rings
such a muffled knell
(tangled windchimes)
all our fragile loose ends
unraveling to fiber...
our weave enriched
by knots of chaos,
a snarled net, rings
such a muffled knell
(tangled windchimes)
Nuages
Dans les calmes echanges verbaux ses mots etaient doux,
Il disait quelque chose a propos des nuages et je me demandais
pourquoi ils etaient fait de nuages... doux comme ses mots
et eleves au dessus des autres hommes.
Il murmurait en francais, j'entend de beaux sons fremissants
comme des nuages se deplacant dans le vent,
comme des nuages se deplacant dans le vent.
Son discours d'argent comme le revetement des nuages
se refletant au soleil.
Ecoutant sa langue maternelle, je suis un champ etndu sur
son dos bouche bee d'admiration
les ombres nuageuses de sa presence filtrant au travers mon visage,
mon cou, mes epaules... sa voix pressant mes levres
avec le poids d'un ciel lourd, sa main effleura ma joue,
quand il dit au revoir, les nuages se replient...
Il manque a la nuit comme a moi.
Il disait quelque chose a propos des nuages et je me demandais
pourquoi ils etaient fait de nuages... doux comme ses mots
et eleves au dessus des autres hommes.
Il murmurait en francais, j'entend de beaux sons fremissants
comme des nuages se deplacant dans le vent,
comme des nuages se deplacant dans le vent.
Son discours d'argent comme le revetement des nuages
se refletant au soleil.
Ecoutant sa langue maternelle, je suis un champ etndu sur
son dos bouche bee d'admiration
les ombres nuageuses de sa presence filtrant au travers mon visage,
mon cou, mes epaules... sa voix pressant mes levres
avec le poids d'un ciel lourd, sa main effleura ma joue,
quand il dit au revoir, les nuages se replient...
Il manque a la nuit comme a moi.
Walking the Storm
Bold of I on storming weathered wings
to walk the forest threatening
to temper like a displeased lover,
while blackened clouds, a darkened arch, etch prophecies in rotting bark
with green-mossed fingers.
Thunder rumbles bones
of fallen trees, speckled stones,
it is I alone, guided by a crackling light
a winding path, who understands nature's wrath...its gnashing teeth, frozen breath
ripping holes in heaven's chest while dark blood stains
billowing sheets of sky,
the quickened river bed runs high,
pulling saplings from shore's grasp
wrenching them away at last-
to disappear beneath its surface.
Longing
Truth within web
is spider
hungers for larger prey
than flies-
how it dreams
of hornets, hummingbirds
and horses trapped
in sticky threads.
is spider
hungers for larger prey
than flies-
how it dreams
of hornets, hummingbirds
and horses trapped
in sticky threads.
The Gift
Unfurled, my heart
separates thread
from flesh, unravels
a small, red blanket...
weaves
a scarlet* cloak for you.
*this dye was obtained by the egyptians
from the shell-fish Carthamus tinctorius
and by the Hebrews from the Coccus ilicis,
an insect which infests oak trees... called
Kermes by the Arabians. It was one of the
colors of the ephod (Ex. 28:6) and the
breastplate of the High Priests. Scarlet
and crimson are the firmest of dyes-
thus not easily washed out of cloth or heart.
separates thread
from flesh, unravels
a small, red blanket...
weaves
a scarlet* cloak for you.
*this dye was obtained by the egyptians
from the shell-fish Carthamus tinctorius
and by the Hebrews from the Coccus ilicis,
an insect which infests oak trees... called
Kermes by the Arabians. It was one of the
colors of the ephod (Ex. 28:6) and the
breastplate of the High Priests. Scarlet
and crimson are the firmest of dyes-
thus not easily washed out of cloth or heart.
Carnivorous Faery
Celestia wept against a tree
natural for a faery to be
raining tears in cypress wood
white-faced beneath her velvet hood
lined with wysteria.
Strangely though, her silvered eyes
resembled those of hawk that flies
hunting over enchanted woods
not the way a faerys' should
like water gleam of sun.
Disturbing more, her berried lip
bloodied from the meat she ripped
from bones of animals she ate
not faery food of nuts and dates
collected in the morning dew.
Not a butterfly or rabbit
followed her as is their habit
to haunt the steps of faery nymphs
fled from her at just a glimpse
of long, sharp talons.
Though her beauty in silken gown
a voice that sang a siren's sound
lithesome waist, legs of tender reed
could not disguise the ghastly needs
of a carnivorous faery.
natural for a faery to be
raining tears in cypress wood
white-faced beneath her velvet hood
lined with wysteria.
Strangely though, her silvered eyes
resembled those of hawk that flies
hunting over enchanted woods
not the way a faerys' should
like water gleam of sun.
Disturbing more, her berried lip
bloodied from the meat she ripped
from bones of animals she ate
not faery food of nuts and dates
collected in the morning dew.
Not a butterfly or rabbit
followed her as is their habit
to haunt the steps of faery nymphs
fled from her at just a glimpse
of long, sharp talons.
Though her beauty in silken gown
a voice that sang a siren's sound
lithesome waist, legs of tender reed
could not disguise the ghastly needs
of a carnivorous faery.
The Redeeming Quality of Shadow
These days, he came up with a plan-
solid and serious gray like the exterior
of a house or an uncut tree trunk...
he built stairs that faced the road-
a secret double life, the trust
of things and balance
between pure form and natural elements
(objects he carried with him always)
He knew modern things grew quickly
and more easily than old buildings, oceans
or transluscent stars...
(lanterns over his huge and thinly packaged city)
He created horizontal spaces, he created
facades of body set against bright blue walls,
floral prints of women walking through his night
and dazzling things that glowed like steel...
(translating them into something organic)
In the end, he rejected Light and swallowed it
in favor of the redeeming quality of shadow.
solid and serious gray like the exterior
of a house or an uncut tree trunk...
he built stairs that faced the road-
a secret double life, the trust
of things and balance
between pure form and natural elements
(objects he carried with him always)
He knew modern things grew quickly
and more easily than old buildings, oceans
or transluscent stars...
(lanterns over his huge and thinly packaged city)
He created horizontal spaces, he created
facades of body set against bright blue walls,
floral prints of women walking through his night
and dazzling things that glowed like steel...
(translating them into something organic)
In the end, he rejected Light and swallowed it
in favor of the redeeming quality of shadow.
5/01/2005
Hook of Light
In the round room of eye, seduced
as fish to hook of light, your lips,
the space between, folds of wing
just touching against the porcelain spine
of a grieving angel.
Your small ears, shells discovered
in sand- pink, fragile and gift-like,
each curve a staircase, an instrument
whose strings of music unwind.
as fish to hook of light, your lips,
the space between, folds of wing
just touching against the porcelain spine
of a grieving angel.
Your small ears, shells discovered
in sand- pink, fragile and gift-like,
each curve a staircase, an instrument
whose strings of music unwind.
3/26/2005
The Crayon and the Catfish
I had so many things to tell you,
let's pretend the purple crayonmarks
on the wall were made by our son
and not some desperate cry
for being left alone, again,
in our large, childless house...
once, when I was seven
I caught a catfish in a storm,
it gulped the rain so hungrily,
I cut the silver line and released it.
When I was eight, I found it floating
on the top of the lake, a rusted hook
still embedded in its protruding lip-
the angst of its foiled life...
a large, quiet house,
an empty womb.
let's pretend the purple crayonmarks
on the wall were made by our son
and not some desperate cry
for being left alone, again,
in our large, childless house...
once, when I was seven
I caught a catfish in a storm,
it gulped the rain so hungrily,
I cut the silver line and released it.
When I was eight, I found it floating
on the top of the lake, a rusted hook
still embedded in its protruding lip-
the angst of its foiled life...
a large, quiet house,
an empty womb.
3/19/2005
3/13/2005
Passage to Dawn
How will you teach me lover?
of shuddering stars, vigilant moons,
concealed shadows where
black flowers flame silver wicks
on the purple dusk of temple-
answer my prayers, what is kiss...
clear sky, seeds of sunlight planted
in the heart of fog, an entire night
like a passage to dawn
on an oarless boat, how
will you move me-
wings of light, mysterious word
whispered sighs of cloud,
rain and morning, of bird
on the tremulous back of winds...
how will you take me lover?
suddenly as death climbs through
an open window, slowly as the vine
of sleep crawls up its ladder, completely
as the silent moment of losing soul.
of shuddering stars, vigilant moons,
concealed shadows where
black flowers flame silver wicks
on the purple dusk of temple-
answer my prayers, what is kiss...
clear sky, seeds of sunlight planted
in the heart of fog, an entire night
like a passage to dawn
on an oarless boat, how
will you move me-
wings of light, mysterious word
whispered sighs of cloud,
rain and morning, of bird
on the tremulous back of winds...
how will you take me lover?
suddenly as death climbs through
an open window, slowly as the vine
of sleep crawls up its ladder, completely
as the silent moment of losing soul.
3/07/2005
Draft- Dream of a Small Room
What speaks of silence- warm breath
without a body, the twine of bundled lips
unwound in the darkest corner of thought,
(each strand unraveled kiss)
the narrow tunnel of a tiny shell
the fingers never breach, the eye
has only dreamed of that small room
where treasures are presumed to dwell...
without a body, the twine of bundled lips
unwound in the darkest corner of thought,
(each strand unraveled kiss)
the narrow tunnel of a tiny shell
the fingers never breach, the eye
has only dreamed of that small room
where treasures are presumed to dwell...
3/06/2005
The Tail of River
I would like to be the one
to inform you- we were never
meant to last beyond
eternity...
a river has a mouth
and a tail, a road
has a gate and a last step
into the mystery of grasses...
even, the faith
of stars vanish
at the end of night.
to inform you- we were never
meant to last beyond
eternity...
a river has a mouth
and a tail, a road
has a gate and a last step
into the mystery of grasses...
even, the faith
of stars vanish
at the end of night.
Draft: In Memory of Our City
We never thought this would happen
to us, buried apart and city remains
as a great stone of tomb with our names
etched in memory on broken streets,
our faces reflected against the shiny skin
of high-rises,
to us, buried apart and city remains
as a great stone of tomb with our names
etched in memory on broken streets,
our faces reflected against the shiny skin
of high-rises,
3/03/2005
Un intended Journey
There is a certain, sad obstinance
to the grainy leather of soul, which
when rubbed habitually worn-shine
that even age cannot mimic...
why do you worry so? In the end
there is naught but the beginning
rewound, re-played, theorized,
thinning, over-used and badgered
(haircloth of thought stretched tightly
around the fragile body parts of longing)
I have been there... too many times
in many forms, but always there
like the cycles of worm, cocoon,
glorious agitated flight-
straight into the grisly teeth of death...
Soon, you will remember the quiet days,
count them as stamens in mouth of flowers,
every yellow pollen appreciated for its
unintended, ill-conceived journey.
to the grainy leather of soul, which
when rubbed habitually worn-shine
that even age cannot mimic...
why do you worry so? In the end
there is naught but the beginning
rewound, re-played, theorized,
thinning, over-used and badgered
(haircloth of thought stretched tightly
around the fragile body parts of longing)
I have been there... too many times
in many forms, but always there
like the cycles of worm, cocoon,
glorious agitated flight-
straight into the grisly teeth of death...
Soon, you will remember the quiet days,
count them as stamens in mouth of flowers,
every yellow pollen appreciated for its
unintended, ill-conceived journey.
3/02/2005
Draft for... Snake and Vine
An empty bottle of cheap champagne,
half-smoked cigarette snuffed out by rain,
seven dollars and a girly magazine
stuffed in the pocket of his faded jeans...
leaning on the corner of sixth avenue
shooting sugar with the chosen few,
glassy eyed and pale green cheeks,
hasn't seen the sun in six long weeks...
red tatoo of a snake and vine,
half-smoked cigarette snuffed out by rain,
seven dollars and a girly magazine
stuffed in the pocket of his faded jeans...
leaning on the corner of sixth avenue
shooting sugar with the chosen few,
glassy eyed and pale green cheeks,
hasn't seen the sun in six long weeks...
red tatoo of a snake and vine,
Silver Wolf
1.
Dangles like a necklace, the setting sun
beaded ornament of glowing nights,
of smoke rising from the distant hills,
of darkness sunken into saffron eyes of owl
echo light as precious stones.
2.
A silver wolf paces the black forest,
an old, reluctant woman asks for directions
in a strange city, instinctively turns east-
the gate of her house closed each evening
with sudden clasp of a rusted latch.
3.
Small creatures wait for day in fear, men
lie down in feathered beds and weep,
........... work in progress
Dangles like a necklace, the setting sun
beaded ornament of glowing nights,
of smoke rising from the distant hills,
of darkness sunken into saffron eyes of owl
echo light as precious stones.
2.
A silver wolf paces the black forest,
an old, reluctant woman asks for directions
in a strange city, instinctively turns east-
the gate of her house closed each evening
with sudden clasp of a rusted latch.
3.
Small creatures wait for day in fear, men
lie down in feathered beds and weep,
........... work in progress
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