Once there was this
woman that I could talk about
writing and
poetry with.
We talked about Emily and Bukowski,
and many others.
We were poets in our own right.
We shared tears and laughter,
like a joint among friends.
Once, we sang our daughter to sleep.
It was beautiful and sublime.
But, the brutal dawn destroyed that
glorious night.

She farted a lot, but I fell
in love with her anyway,
and her son too.
We even cooked together.
It was magnificent,
although she got a little bossy in
the kitchen.
I can still smell the coriander
and garlic and taste the salt on
the back of her neck.

I picked her wildflowers, and
ate well from her garden- all slippery and divine.
She had these pastel soft blue eyes,
like something out of a Degas painting.
She could be as mean as Humpty Dumpty,
all cracked and broken, yoke flowing everywhere.
And I couldn't fix her. And I certainly
couldn't put myself back together again.

And then one autumn, I turned around,
and she was gone. A wall went up.
Occasionally I could see her through the
holes in the bricks. But I knew that
I would never touch her again;
hold her, kiss her.
It made me feel sad and lonely.
But I keep her real close in my heart.
And some days that gets me by.
And other times, it's like she was
never there at all just a tender dream.

I want to escape the memory of her;
overdose on artichokes and avocados,
drowned in a sea of ****** Marys,
or run away to far-off lands,
like Montana or Idaho.
But, I'm afraid I'd still see her there,
in the Snake River or the wide open sky.

You are like a mountain, not a
sublime snow-capped mountain in
Colorado, or like the Cerro Torre in
Argentina and Chili.
Not like
the Ama Dablam in Nepal.
But you seem like a
mountain nonetheless.
A mountain that obscures
the beauty of the
majestic sunrise,
and the grandeur of life.
A mountain that
smothers love and
everything glorious.
Maybe you aren't
a mountain at all.
Perhaps you're an
ant hill, dragging
dead souls into
your busy hole.
I climbed you, and
was so enamored with
your beauty, I missed
your charade and
masquerade.

Don’t cast your pearls to swine, my love
Your gifts are far too rare
They will not spoil in time my love
If you treat them with care

Don’t give yourself away, my dear
Hold tight your precious heart
Please never let us see the day
You lose a single part

Don’t cast your pearls to swine, sweetheart
For they will never know
The beautiful divinity
Contained within your soul

Don’t share the secrets of your mind
With those who cannot see
The depth and breadth behind your eyes
Instead, share them with me

I’ll hold your pearls dear to my heart,
Appreciate them all
My darling I am drawn to you
See how I heed your call?

You’ve cast your pearls so many times
And this time I was there
With heart and soul and arms outstretched
To catch them from midair

Don’t cast your pearls to swine, angel
The precious gift of you
For you deserve the greatest fate
A life with love that’s true

spring is hardly sure it loves the summer sun,
till the wind is warm and fruitful.

You build me with
turquoise and
the mountains of Taos.
Cerulean blue
serenity in my soul.
My heart chases
after you.
Even your chisel
helped me
grow through
the pain.
You
are the
grand artist,
The Supreme
sculpter.