"Sanskrit has 96 words for love; ancient Persian has 80, Greek three, and English only one. This is indicative of the poverty of awareness or emphasis that we give to that tremendously important realm of feeling. Eskimos have 30 words for snow, because it is a life-and-death matter to them to have exact information about the element they live with so intimately. If we had a vocabulary of 30 words for love ... we would immediately be richer and more intelligent in this human element so close to our heart. An Eskimo probably would die of clumsiness if he had only one word for snow; we are close to dying of loneliness because we have only one word for love. Of all the Western languages, English may be the most lacking when it comes to feeling." - Robert Johnson, "The Fisher
King and the Handless Maiden"

Even
In my dreams
I try
To make you
Safe
Comfortable
Loved
Holding you
Carefully
In my
Small hand

color me
color you
a truly new human hue
like a bright star
crystal clear, drink
from its waking waters
grieve, keen
but re-believe
in our incorruptible
stellifying power
beginning with
a galaxy of hands
—interconnected hands—
that touch with the emitting
rays of compassion

~
Green reflections
Clouds of pollen
Butterfly mornings
Her face forms in summertime
She sells electric ego
And flowers of herself
Reaping the wild wind
From a haunted garden
~

The future is drawn and threading.

The future is sold and factory-sealed.

Just cold enough to be artificial, just feeling enough to be alive.

Fading chorus
to a sing-along rapture
a laugh of clarification
a hasty placement of hands
and knees, dovetailed
yes, those eyes
~ still lit and power-surged
but give her a moment
(...)
for all the sudden
it tickles