Aveces mi corazón cómo un cometa
sale de mi pecho y se desplaza con amor

sobre tu estancia temporaria
con tanta alegría que se

que el vivir es la jornada del verbo amar

The thin layer of burned bark sits black
over your hand no more hostile

than a passing thought preparing to exit
for a new one to emerge

from the mind’s entrance

the sun becomes a river in my eyes, engulfing all,  maybe then the majesty
and luminosity of everything will shine
as does the golden beauty of a sunset or of a compassionate word perched on the lips of another
all is possible
why change the lenses, see more pf what is already, sincerely there

There was a time when I would run to your door so wholeheartedly with sincerity as my bread offering along side a red wine full of my clearest intention to simply see you smile and be more confident in your own beauty

I would melt  like a small chubby stick of butter and feel like perhaps in those chairs we sat we all melted and became yellow viscosity –inseparable

There was a time when I foolishly saw my mothers eyes in you, her broken unhealthy relationship cloaked the room perphaps more present than the music-even you were clocked with it. In my mind, If you were my mother leaving my father, I would be the lover who showed up with open arms to offer a new safe shoulder

What heavy cloak that was. What an illusion. How I thought perhaps life was calling to stand for my love regardless of what others thought. This heavy cloak came off the day that love did not stand for up for me.

this cloak was so thick so heavy and when it came off and I could see by the non stop crying  and rapid way in which my eyes reddened around the lids and pupils
that I was wrong

that I was a truly alone in a place so far
But still my life in MY hands

I have tired to release too many times
but it’s like a spiral winding inwardly

and I accept it’s traversing and infinite nature always coiling and surprising me

at how it is still there

I just needed
solitude to move my aching willowed heart
to drop another seed just outside the periphery of my shade

Where a newer dream would have enough sunlight to flourish
and  burst as a sprout through
the  darkness of rich moist tears and acidic soil to became a sapling growing

The blue sky and scent of cosmos flowers are crispy
like the brown leaves that begin inaugurating autumn

I see lines of periodic motion caved
by the birds dancing overhead

When they look at us , those birds, do they notice our lines- our traversed geography made  obvious by our commutes

Does one of them know the shape of the line your steps make ?