The Damaging Darkness

Exquisite, the relationship of God
and those who suffer; the loss of beauty
haunts the collector of dark things.

I told you several times don't go
there, my blind lover, my shadowed
sorrowful child. If blood is life,

the darkness, a place of sacrifice
and resurrection. I'm ready now
to move my mouth in prayer-

a silent, secret heart attack.

Queens of Night

I know you've been late
all of your life. You've had
good reason. The ends of vines
grow slowly together- arranged
lovers on their first night.

Accurately pieces fit together;
you should be satisfied. In the wild,
fulfillment comes at a greater price-
ask the bat or moth who feed on
trumpet queens of night, then die.

Better stayed the royal feast
than sweet forever.

What We Hold

It's been there awhile,
the half filled hole,

carefully carved insinuating
purpose, a handless glove.

How perfectly it holds
in its velvet curves, silence-

a cushion, a muzzle, space
in folds of a mouthless cloth.

Strange, its patience
mimics the heart as it

waits for something,
anything at all.

Once Eaten

I loved your dark eyes like
thunderclouds, the sky filled
with them. The way a rose
bleeds salmon-colored fluids,
the same way a child might
cry for milk when the dry tit
shrinks and folds. You were
beautiful once, unknowable like
the pleasures of the world or
the sea-storm place when no one
is watching. You were the last
gift, the strange star shining,
the morning-winged bird who
flew into the mouth of darkness
improbably swallowed.

Letting Go

Like a robe or rose opened/the light
detached muscle rubbing under skin.

I say/I release you/betray myself.
Think of burning/thorns/a desert.

The heart is nothing but sand/if not
beautiful and shifting arches of sky/

an emptied cathedral.

Here's where I take your hand/
let it go/the way I promised.

Adopted Author

Most the time he sat like this:
soft pectorals leaning over paper,
hardened eyes inward and down.

"I have been robbed" he said,
his room no more empty than
his heart as if he owned

something once before.

Counting, counting words
and random specks of dust
like orphans do, always groping

for a ledge, a hold, a family.

The cloth, its threads irreparably
broken, a favorite toy forgotten
beneath his adopted bed

its countless plastic parts
already missing.

What Sadness Looks Like In the Dark

Night sky, black factory
of stars. Its cold moon
like a father. How perfectly
its parasitic clouds resemble
the lifeless parts of sorrow.

Just at the tree line,
a silhouette of owl like
a small hand reaching
slowly through the dark,
its skin on fire.

From Nothing

Sky to ocean, perfectly pieced apart,
a beautiful casket hid in perfect darkness.

Things we left unsaid "whosoever speaks of
knowing breaks the contract of the dead"

We knew but couldn't understand how deep
the disappointment. Did I mention roses

or the anchored stones that bind them?

Our shabby lives, the ackward silence;
this too is how we rise from nothing

to more of nothing.

Dragging the Bone

This is my long, narrow day,
heavy life, a sponge soaked
with water, salt & blood.

I drag my bones towards
dusty night; how dead
is dead enough?

Let those who understand
the phantom soul captured
in its shadowed house accept

its sadness. True, it's doors
are made of glass and we
of bodies, of darkness.

And I, a little horse and cart,
a road of whitened bones with
no end in sight.

Faith

Partial night, evening, outlines
of its coat the size of sky, the fur
of some dark animal, a blanket
on fire.

Careless, impatient wolves gather
from the woods, crouching knives
unsheathed and pointed.

There in clovered green, unsure,
impossibly fragile a spotted deer.

And God, standing on His hill
counts every black & purpled
feather of the bird.

The Measurement of Halves

Of course I know if love had eyes, your face
surrounds it. Why then, are rocks used
for violence or often truths morph into lie?

What does it mean to be half-broken
like interrupted light?

Yes, the hand draws back from fire, the heart
speaks less of words like hold or letting go
than hiding what its borrowed.

Half-intense, isn't pain essentially
a measure of desire?

Earthbound Lovely

Sounds of life, the groaning
superficial wounds whose origons

start deeper. The last thoughts
sunk into the dream while falling,

what animal's teeth make wounds-
maybe yours. Most certainly mine.

Not being how to save ourselves
but how to be the darkness,

how to quell our instincts
on the long way down or

where we go in shadow.

Watch the leaf, its doom-like spiral,
earthbound lovely, helpless fragile,

the mid-flight bird whose ruptured
heart breaks its final promise.

The Blind, Sad Girl

Foraging sadness, the final drop
in summer's bucket, not enough
to drink or spill.

Sleep, a form of dying; a state
of sadness, an empty basket
filled with nothing.

The dream about a quiet girl
whose senses promised blindness,
later in a separate world,

her eyes on fire, glowing moths
flutter towards nirvana.

Disclosure

I want to write of what is sealed:

names of the nameless, stories of
the dying, what's inside the heart-shaped
box before its opened, the meaning,

the meaning, the meaning

of everything.

I want to undress into light,
hold the uncovered wrist to its mark,
my mouth to the fire.

There are words for opening:
rupture, break out, disclosure.

In a bowl, the size of an egg,
I dip my wings and write-

the ink flows over.

Disaster

Saved, not safe, living
an inch from chaos, miles
from happiness.

These hands labor
building a fence
easily toppled

like false pain from
the amputed limb,
we struggle to deny it.

Sky fills with cloud,
expecting rain. Seeds fall
like missiles convinced

their futures are set
in stone, on earth beneath
their mother's bodies.

A journey embarked is
a trek towards maybe,
perhaps or possibly.

Those who survive it
will claim their destiny-

a never-ending tryst
with disaster.

That Was Then

Quiet now, alert yet calm; the hour
of shiver & stars. Each of us violent
before the finished night, now satisfied.

What reminds us- bite marks from
either love or fighting.

See how darkness conquers light
by following it. How invisibly faith
occupies emptiness, changing it.

Not unlike the spaces in a heart
that seemed so crowded.

Killing Living Creatures to Absorb Life Essence

I'll kill a fly but not a moth
or spider. I know the bird
in the wolf's strong mouth
belongs there.

Fate is a predictable tool,
a bridle or saw or heart
whose work is obvious;

the soul's teeth chewing
its food thoughtfully-

pieces becoming parcel.

Abyss

Fearing mediocrity, the star
sank deeper into darkness
without moving, the way
grief makes an ordinary man
seem exceptional.

So many bodies, no discernible light.

If love is an ocean, the abyss
it fills is heart. And sky,
with all its beauty can only
touch it.

A Fugue State

Devastatingly lethargic.
Sleeping fog, a film of dust.

The tension of water holding up
an old dream. A familiar dream-

the one about a father who
poisoned his daughter.

He couldn't love her even
if she loved. A little.

Beautifully vague- how she
learned to leave the world as

lonely as she found it.

We Do What Is Expected

The child was taken care of,
dinner made. Why does the
snowman in the yard
stand so still? The dead

won't cry at midnight
even if they could.

That one single bird, so
feathered, so wild sings
to absent ears because it must.

It must.

Retro Walk

Later, we should return
to what we were

erasing pity or grief;

follow our footsteps back
without a body, without

disfiguring the past.

I wonder if the world
will recognize who
we are or believe

we belonged here
in the first place.

Blessed Are the Obvious

Covered from head
to toe, the tribal mindset
of removing the face
from its body or rage
from love, defines sanctum-

a place reserved for darkness.

See the perfect likeness
of the cypress, the mirrored
wings of hawks and owl,
the indistinguishable river
of rushing waters.

Here, the shapeless form
assumes distinction only by
its deepest flaw.

The Missing Link

The lessons began that first evening
before damage was understood or brightness
peeled from its dark husk revealed nobility.

When did wing become flame
burning itself mid-flight?

What sign stands for sacrifice
and who will give it freely?

Then prayer, learned or gift
drove the child from Eden out
into the thoughtful night.

Immunity

Taking in: water, meat,
darkness, light.

Falling down: body, rain,
heart.

Immunity: no one.

I too saw the white hand
lifting to its open mouth
a piece of brightness;

tasting it.

Chasing Down

We won't stay young and wait
for love; who has time to linger
for a crippled dog, the passing snail?

While everyone is dreaming there
are quick wolves chasing down
the slow deer, the unsuspecting bull.

Noiseless night, a pillow for the head,
has schedules to keep, cages to leave
as shadows shorten toward the woods.