I dreamed he kissed me.
a breath of a kiss,
whispered, that
Vanished into sleep,
up the stairs
and into the attic with the ghosts
I kick at
while they wring their hands.
Mother's voice, another's voice
in memory, or in thought, dream.
Startled, started,
and then gone,
the wisp of a kiss
still on my lips.

Water bearer*
It is always borne.
Never passing under the bridge
where it's supposed to be.
Streams burst from under the tongue
and sponge pores.
Drowning inside,
under memories weight.

Reckless sleep
a car accident dream.
I see red, no, blue?
Someone is panicking outside
the imagined steel.
Big, gentle, I don't know him.
I am calm-- too calm.
They can't get the door open.

I learned to find beauty in everything, even the sorrow— a curse?
It is the deadly beauty of darkness
before the lion closes his mouth
round your head,
and the vast blues of water
as you drown.
Romantic? Never.
Real? Always.
The truth was beautiful
and it hurt.

Loneliness is a taste of death
Here I am, dying,
without arms to expire in.
The house is silent, as I drift to sleep,
not eternally,
yet.

I supposed I loved him
Because he could tell me I was beautiful
without ever opening his mouth.

At one time, seemingly lifetimes ago,
I felt as if I could take the pain experienced
by those who crossed my path and
somehow, maybe by empathetic magic or
good old fashioned love, turn it into
something useful to them...but now
I admit that I know better.

God or Allah or Buddha or Luck
placed people in my path and also
placed me in theirs, sometimes for a
few minutes or a day or months or years
but the mechanism and the time are irrelevant.

Knowing now that no matter what I do
I will never be the person that the few I've
loved actually need is a cold, cold understanding,
the kind or understanding that makes a person
age ten years in a month, yet it's something
worth realizing for it's own sake.

Look at this mountain of empty sins piled
around me, these bottles full of regrets,
you see now why when she looks at me
I wave and pass her by, knowing that
all I have to offer is a mere attempt at love.

I have nothing to give to anyone but my heart,
here take it please this beating wounded thing,
take it from my own keeping and do what you
wish with it, for I no longer wish it to be my own.

Take that heart given, and keep it close, but not
too close, for it won't help you when you're happy
and life is grand, no that heart is only in your
keeping for one purpose and one only....
as Dante said, eat of it and take strength for your own.