You don't wear black face.
You'd never do such.
You don't wear white face;
Do you Kabuki?
Mime, non? Mime, oui?
But every March,
Millions of others,
Attired in green,
Some painted like Celtic warriors,
Affect terrible brogues,
And get sotted, some must disgracefully.
That's what the Irish do, think they?
I won't wear a yarmulke on Yom Kippur,
Not a burka on Eid al-Adha,
Or lead the parade
Up Fifth Avenue.
Slainte

She moves just like water
She is water

She fits seamlessly in everything
She knows her boundaries

                but if you test Her
                        when you test Her
                                She will freeze - expand - break free

She is water
And She is danger

She is way too much for you

Expect nothing,
and everything becomes
a gift.

I sense this world is not what it seems
This sugar-plum Home, some counterfeit dream
Where I might have played
        dress-up in mother's closet
And pretended to be grown -- like her
And beautiful -- like her

Where I might have had enough to eat
        Safe inside a child's sleep
My sparrow's heart tucked in with a story

Tonight I drank the star-studded sky
As the need for why
        dissolved in my cup
Now is enough --

In tatters
My heart
still beats

How it
can be so
is a mystery

Dragged through
the streets like
a dog

For all to see
Ragged and
betrayed

Left on
the side
of the road

To die
But it lives
purportedly