at the edge of the bed,
thin curtains caught the sunlight,
it was all the silence
one room would hold.
She faced the window, tilted
with her back to me,
her honey comb hair
hanging over the branch of her neck.
She rose,
light filled the room,
it gushed over her books.
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 4:21 PM UTC
All morning, as I sit thinking of you,
the Monarchs are passing.
Yet the moth has trim, and feistiness, and not a drop
of self-pity.
The twenty-winged cloud of yellow butterflies
floats into the field.
The irregular postage stamp of death;
a black moth the size of my left
thumbnail is all I’ve trapped in the damask.
Certainly, we all felt
this vastly hollowed-out distress.
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 3:55 PM UTC
All the night inside of me
is wind turning trees into thunder.
Sweet purple flowers
are like milky sparse carpets,
like when clouds and eyebrows merge
for brief moments of paradise.
My neck rests softly as the night bends,
I see you in the stars when I look up.
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 3:54 PM UTC
If hope is the thing with feathers,
then it holds your face,
holding the dusk,
in the thick
wilderness of love.
In the thick
wilderness of love,
you coil me into
your ***** of one thousand
roses, gushing like smoke
from your lips.
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 3:53 PM UTC
After working out,
I come home.
My sister
my mother
are both asleep,
my father is alone
washing dishes in the kitchen.
Outside in the street,
there is something
about rain-fall I will love forever,
but there is nothing to love when
the sidewalk turns into
suburban everglades.
There in the kitchen I see you
standing at the sink, waiting
for your son to get home.
My father has not caused
the rain to stop and grow humid.
My father is
washing dishes left over by his
family. I am standing
in the hallway and say: “hi.”
Outside in the street, the
rain-fall has stopped
and left clouds of dry heat.
There in the house
I am swallowed up
and I remember my grandmother’s
hands becoming too weak
to make pasteles.
But still she stood there
cleaning those dishes
in her last afternoons,
waiting for
my father to get home.
So there you are,
aching, and worrying,
somewhat like her, but
somewhat more confident
now that I’m here.
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 1:50 PM UTC
you were wounded
in the deep dusk of the forest.
I saw your antlers
and began to weep,
your blood weeping from nine arrows.
At that moment in the clearing,
I finally saw your eyes.
Cupid has clearly been clumsy
and you’ve let me become lousy.
This deer was enormous,
and carried your face.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 1:05 PM UTC
On nights like these
when the bus exits the highway
onto another highway
with no traffic, the city looks
like a melted snow-globe
in a dream.
And Miami
means something beautiful
for once.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 1:04 PM UTC
From the window,
North Miami dusk lay like a quiet lake
in the sky.
The tall skinny trees
bob back and forth
like dandelions
blown in a field.
The sky is
full of sweet purples
and muted blues.
The clouds are wisps of smoke
like clusters of sand
on a moon-soaked shore.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 1:00 PM UTC
I like the rain, because
It is a symphony when it falls
Sharing sympathy with the dry of the earth
All of me is quiet and I imagine, the
Grass in my backyard as a dewy dark green
Waving as the water hits each blade
I forget about the man who is
Sitting on a couch in the next room,
In a dark room, illuminated
By a flashing tv screen
Not all mothers make potato salad
Or drink lattes with soy milk and sugar-free syrup
Some even buy their potato salad from
The store
we all want to be able to open
Ourselves for someone freely
The sound of love kissing is
The spatting
Of rainfall in the backyard,
Hitting the blades
The water penetrates the grass
And the soil is connected to the sky
There is a heart beat in the tiny roots
Like when two people attend
The last movie showing on a cold
Saturday night, and you
are one of them, and you wrap yourself
Into the other person
Now he snores, competing
With the commercials late night
Television brings to his slumber,
I come back to my room
When the rain stops
Your eyes meet forever
The kind of kisses that uncover secrets
Are the kinds of water that fall on the grass
In your backyard
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 9:16 PM UTC
Where the planes fly with comfort overhead
Clouds fit precisly in between the trees
Where you can stretch your legs to infinity
Above the ground but not too high
Where ponds lie all around
Hearing the wind blow through leaf
Where green brown and blue have never looked so good
And the insects are not a harm
Where you limbs are family with all other timbs
This is where I sit seeing the sun bounce off the wood
This is is where my mouth feels fresh air
Flowing in and out, in and out
No numbers exist here
Just the clouds
The sky
The trees the bugs the grass the water the plants
And me
Only if you could see this certainty
Like Shakespeare was sure of tragedy
And the reneissance people painted the walls
Apr 4, 2011
Apr 4, 2011 at 7:35 PM UTC