Allowing
insecurity,
shaky hands, impulsive words, red wine
and
new clothes

Allowing
vegetarian purity
austere meditation seat,
mimicking Buddha
candles, incense
and
bare foot walking

Allowing
high-heeled shoes
on the ***** pub floor
greasy *** hair, red lipstick
and
thoughts of threesomes

Allowing
Silence
clean hands, poetry, books on philosophy
and
family dinners

Allowing
unchanged sheets
barking dogs
black flies
and
crumbs on the counter

Allowing
hurt-stained eyes
hand-holding, hugs
false eyelashes
and
too much blush.

Allowing
blue sky
and all that it blankets

Allowing
Grey sky
and all that the rain touches

paradox shifting
burning ideals
slips through open fingers
judgment withers
and
awareness opens

A lone chrysanthemum
Against the current of
Changing winds
A beauty not seen
By one pair of eyes
Alone in the moist and rocky soil
Bug-bitten reads of old grass
Shelters the sky view.
In dappled light
Her peddles shine
A desperate despair
Dispersed seeds
Like pennies on New York City sidewalks.
To fade alone
A beauty never seen
Except by the existence holding her together.
Footsteps of a passing fawn,
The beat of a crow's wings,
Lift the base of each red peddle.
The rain comes
Cooling hope
A beauty never seen
Is still beautiful

Where do these words come from?
Where do the questions percolate?
Where does longing grow?
If only from the water and fat
of this brain.
But electrical impulses and biochemicals
have no meaning-
no poem.
What I want is a romantic answer,
A story I can hold close to my breast-
One that will satisfy the hole of endless questions,
paradoxes
and heartbreak.
One I can smile about over tea,
and laugh about
in open fields of long grass,
one that is made of
startdust
and songs.