I see you all like mirages
in a room
you become clear
the further in time
that I travel away
from you

You are becoming more beautiful
not because more people like you
or because more people agree with you
You are becoming divine
because you are in the closet pulling down the cobwebs
In your home, brewing your tea to cultivate moments of attention
in your heart adoring what great effort
you body makes to keep you here
you are beautiful because you try over and over see the miraculous

I ate fire
and I swam with it
in my belly splashing
my arms around

beneath my feet
the ancientness
of dirt called
for the wind
that once helped
cool the magma
that became long
stretches of continents

(The firm rock under
my floating forehead)

I dram your hair was buzzed and over the back of your head a shaved crown with a yellow outline. You are well; my hope is that you are well.

I chuckled in a starbucks
a capitalistic touchstone of experience
because my old high school boyfriend
my then long haired metal-head is an environmental scientist
what is more heavy metal than saving the environment
as quintessential as a green logo-ed mermaid is to visual culture
so is the aching guilt of living now...slowly killing this earth  
At least when we talked about making the world a better place,
he was telling truth

I am on a documentary dive
the way I dived in bars or went on pub
crawls

I am all in and after two glasse of champagne baby I want to cut my hair
I want slick Bob on this frizzy curly mane
of mine but I wait for Friday

Friday night when you are home and we can have three drinks each and sunk together I  will have the same recurring thoughts of a shorter cut to maintain the coolness on this hot humid summer night
and I will let you cut and the next we will wake up and go to the hair dresser where they will cut three more inches off my head of hair

I read through a box of old letters, old emails,
“old” said from my mouth sounds cleansing
feels like Saturday cleaning
greasy oil over a iron cast giving
way to dark rivers until finally
they run clear

an old me rises for the words
and I run to hug her
“you are so sweet” I tell her

“better love is coming” I want to blurt out
as cheesy and as intense as a first love
a young teen gets
like parting gift of encouragement I want to squeeze her and deliver my message
But, I stop for fear she continue to wait
some sad dark haired Rapunzel

Becoming a jamless  lover of jam waiting for a jar of guava jam when she’s got a whole guava tree in her front yard. she has just got to pick them from  her own tree ,and cook her guavas over her own stove