Release me into the bluest of skies
and rejoice as my soul takes flight
Do not grieve our separation
We are all merely a dusting of creation

She comes to me in whispers
her feet treading water above silvered shards
as her cerulean stare pierces the dark.
I breath in the atmosphere
as her chill sets my lungs to burn.
Both fear and adoration fill my mind as beauty in it's bleakest form, beckons.

Yesterday night,
as I was crossing the
bridge of the past,
your name was
barely floating underneath,
I looked at it as it was
half submerged,
half breathing,
and my hand didn't reach out for it,
instead, it reached out for my heart,
listened to its beats,
they said walk to the end of the bridge,
and I did,
my hand reached for my hair and cut
two strands to make a ribbon to tie the past,
you loved my hair after all,
didn't you?

little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.

Called

called a lecture
   at the coffee shop
no one showed
   but me and my cup
  
proclaimed to the walls
   my fantasies of words
no one denied
   my ignorance
  
but i heard an echo
   speaking softly
the coffee machine
   gurgling softly
  
and i fell in love

my heart bleeds poetry
it spills from every corner.

a heart that beats -
stubborn, against all remedies.

reason balms my ache;
sweet rationality says
‘just not meant to be’.

but it beats on and spills still
moon after moon,
it lives only to ache.

my heart bleeds poetry
only for you and I ask only
that it be still.

that is my tragedy.

"To Never Be Quiet Again"

To never be quiet again i pray
To sing of bones and teeth
And soaring birds
Of change eternal transmuting
The aggregate of we
To newer dreams unthought
Till seen in the moment arisen
Of monkeys contemplating in trees
Of vibrating mind stuff
Incarnate oscillations
Neither existence nor non existence
But the fullness of the inexpressible
The beauty of no shape
No form
No archetype but the make believe
The source of breath
The source of sight
The source of consciousness
Infinite variety bewildering to ignorance
To birth and death continuous
Till birth and death transcended
The exhilarating mystery of motive power
Of Himalayan hillsides
Prayer flags in the wind
Hammer and chisel stone work
Snow
And the virtuous wishes of all
Sentient beings
Amen