If I were Brahma
I'd have my lungs
on the outside of my skin,
and while everyone was breathing out
I'd be breathing in.
While everyone was breathing in
the reverse is also so,
but no one knows
which way the flow
(through trunk
through branch
through stem),
whether they are breathing I
or I am breathing them.
Let be the fringes of past,
for with all your hands
you cannot reweave
the rug soon to be
under our feet.
Step lightly,
there are beings here
and they have been here all along,
through our noises and lovemaking,
and they do not celebrate
nor recoil,
but we must give them the space
they do not ask for besides.
I am in love with wear,
and white made of color,
and the black made of light.
The where to which we are going.
No amount of sowing can plant the seed
that is to be
these that will flower,
and still there is power there
in the empty air,
and it is shared.
Care not for my death,
for it already has your love.
Care not for sadness,
it is already sated.
I've waited for a sign from God
and here i find that his gift
is not to be had
but still is to be given.
Are we so pulled by destiny?
As a child by a kite,
the movement of grass following.
Is there someone waiting
who knows our face from photographs,
candid, taken from our smiles and given to
someone waiting.
Familiar to them;
to us it's all the same.
Is it that makes the walk worth while?
Are we so drawn to our destinations?
or perhaps is there an eddy
like water made smoke
pulling us by the throat
without the choke
our breath a note
hummed from away
elsewherewestay
Give me today
and I will stay.
To wait at gates with no expectation of an opening
To be on the other side
and to ride
to be alive
You have no need
See before you a silver light.
Liquid motions shape its space,
its time is kept by the beat of hearts,
the pulse that starts beneath your feet:
the Earth, its smell the sound of ocean stones,
holds the throne on which
your ancestors sit, those that let your life.
Their eyes the silver light;
their blood, their hair
this night.
With your breath, with your sight,
the light is drawn into your roots
than shoots to the leaves
and weaves,
shaking
and breaking,
making doorways of sieves,
and though it fades
it never leaves.
It is we.
That which goes cannot know
the thing you need, like trees, to grow.
The mushroom knows and so the willow,
but that which goes,
which moves cannot.
The grooves they choose
what is to fill them,
and the roots they loose none but the lightest stones,
for they know their home is close
and that their is no need to reach,
for the stars from so far still teach
the thing you need, like trees, to grow.
Slow down,
and that which once was out of grasp
clasps itself to you.
Love like water is dripping in
steaming up
filling the cracks and freezing
pushing things apart
making space for us to
be together
I must be stealing these feelings from angels
a light this bright must be blinding
but at this angle
my eyes aren't hiding
and I can see you smiling
Love like fire is burning
and turning over
sheets of clover and a bed of moss
made flames and tamed to ashes
by eye lashes
Radiant Moister
Soaking Heat
Light in your Eyes
Smoke under your Feet
these are the things make you feel complete
that make you want to dance with me
so dance with me
If my words could kiss you,
I wouldn't stop talking.
If my silence could speak,
I wouldn't say a thing.
If my steps could love you,
I wouldn't stop walking.
If your fingers could listen,
they'd hear my skin sing.
Lava pouring into the sea!
which is you and which is me?
either or we are the steam.
this is how 1 and 1 make 3
Everywhere there are
people laughing, let them laugh!
let you laugh as well.
kiss me please.
kiss me hard.
let it leave
a mark, a scar.
let it burn and be a star.
kiss me please
and leave me charred.
I'm not so far away
as to miss it when you say
the way you feel.
i'll listen
and i'll pray
that it's real,
and steal a kiss
so that we may pay
only attention
to the tension between
our blue pools
atop mountains,
bringing them both
to the valley
to meet in the middle
and make up the sea.
kiss me.
Stuck everywhere are secrets you've heard before.
Sometimes the things i have to say
don't escape past the tips of my teeth
because the rigid parts of me
are afraid to tie knots
that can only be
undone
with a knife.
We;
the generation
that forgot the meaning of memorable,
so keen on trade
as a means to claim
or apply value,
that this,
only this,
is seldom enough.
I used to think that pain was the most motivational thing i could feel,
but as I was bound to be taught,
told in blessings by
teachers
i was trying to
train,
it's either a lesson in love
or a lesson in release.
We burn when we're
young
to cool down when we're
older,
but as a sum
does it freeze?
does it smolder?
Excuse me miss, I
couldn't help but to notice
your demon's peeking
Though the names of deities
shall echo through echelons eternal
the nature of their faces
will be never
on our
tongues.
And yet…
Even on the tip I forget.
Do not curse your demons,
they've more practice there than you,
and the most that it could do
is make you a demon too.
a cat is a creature of elegant feature
when leaping through leaves or wrapped round a heater
there's one that i've seen who lurks by the theater
she's shy with green eyes and i wish just to meet her
Rapture is the sense of envelopment
A feeling like looking up at the rain
The world as an envelope
Is as it does
come on in
the water's fine
I've got the shades down
and the panes up off the sill
so i can hear the rain sounds
without the wind chill,
yet still
i feel like granite,
and i can't stand it
to wait for my decay,
to wait for the day
that the stone to the water
gives way,
so I guess i'll sit.
