You came like a lightning bolt
quick and parting the rumbling  skies

if I had let my sorrow drown me I would of surely missed you standing there lighting up part of sky

you are indeed one of the gifts of remaining painfully open, lovingly open, open and touching life– touching your face in the middle of night

something kinder and gentler has finally come my way and I can see it in your electric smile which does not go over me
I see your glow and soon I have no doubt you strike the land

I will finally hang Rich’s “Final Notations.” above my door

It will be a 8.3 x 11.7 rectangle holding space for my courage and my will
to not close or shrink from life

it will substitute as an answer to all the question I want to ask you
because I will not ask you for how long
you will hold me at peace in bed or for how long
you will get up and meditate with me over the cold linoleum floor in  the morning, I will not dare and ask you for the sun and
the moon or for the things that bloom eternal

I will just behold you there folding the laundry with me, there cooking next me while holding up a spoonful of soup to my mouth,   
“there,there” as I cry and tell you all my sorrows

I will hold out my two palms towards you in the same manner as I do when we start to dance over my grey turquoise carpet

I will open not just my hands but my heart so that you can come in, so that you can hold me as the sun begins its morning trek, so that you can sit so close to me during morning mediation, that I cannot help but sync my breath with yours, so that if you find the moon or the sun on your way to me
you can lovingly show up with them in your eyes or tucked in the width of your smile and I will be present enough, enough
will recognize them
so that if your love springs eternal you can show me and I will believe you

I will hang her poem up because I believe
I still believe
even though it has not been simple
I believe enough so to welcome you and let you show me who you are and how you can love me
I will hang it needing no guarantees
I will hang as the answer to all my questions

When we dare sing into the world a new song
we do not lead it
we follow it and watch
how it cozies up to us and comes through the body

each year a bucket that if it were not there
the song’s rhythm could not be played in streets of dirt road and in the town where soul is more abundant than money

And it is
that this is who I am
I am not chasing
any kind of glory, that I don’t care about being the best at
something worldly I care about being the “ best me”
nourishing my natural gifts in order to share them

I am not competing. I am not running on empty or on misguided comparisons( I save my energy for what matters)

I
already everything I will ever be in motion towards my inner and outward destination
sit calmly because it trust again not a man or a womyn but myself

What someone can take is only a fraction of the real strength, courage and authenticity that flows through me
I am really human, fragile and sensitive to the touch
small and unassuming like all life on this earth grateful for every rotation in this galaxy.

I know what I really am and I call upon it and it calls upon me and we smile together
one in the same
this is what I am

with love for the little things that hold me up
this earth
that dark soil
This mount of well earned tenacity and gratitude

with love i behold everything that makes me up

If I picked up a cigarette today
what good would it do trying
to puff my way to tranquility

what good would it do to start crafting an image, start removing the little things
that set me apart for the rest
start hiding taking down the pictures frames which contain goofy photographs of me, real non-**** ****, that don’t turn on even a light switch
in lieu of beautifully shot photographs of
in nice lighting


What good would it do to start when I don’t want to, when I don’t feel like I need to be like them
What good would it do light one up
when I give a flying **** whether I smoke or not
when it’s just another stick and I could just as well pick up a twig and stick it in my mouth

What good would it do being someone I am not

“How beautiful we are “
i carry this sentence tucked in my coastal
in case I forget
how feet and how lungs move the way butterflies flutter in time