and today is one of
those days
where you wake up
to reality snuffing out
the flame of hope
and optimism
you've spent weeks
trying to light

today I am bombarded
with the thought of you
leaving
with the weight of
92 days
hanging over my head
like a rain cloud
today
I am
tired

and I've found that even when
I'm with you
I'm not really with you
because I am always too busy
thinking about you leaving
to enjoy what little time
we get to share together
and I'm sorry for that

I don't know how to apologize
for my feelings
in a way that doesn't ask for
you to say
"you don't need to do that,"
because believe me
I do

I am sorry
that despite my best efforts
I will not be able to be strong
all of the time
or perhaps even
a majority of the time

I am sorry
that I will never get used to
saying goodbye to you
that I can promise you
leaving will never get
any easier

I told you
this would be hard
and I meant that
but I also told you
that there is no one else
in this world
that I would rather do this with
than you
and I meant that
and that is what makes this
so
easy

and I mean that.

Balsamic parades
appearing
before you now

A cosmic                silence
fettering                O fair winded fury
      
PassionGlancing

   delicate fishnets casting for a stage of Arab desire

        Neolithic pattern &
tender reflection does welcome the stone
which an ardentness accompanies

    Long, Long and carried
    and curious
    
  a glance of eyes/
         your cavern for splendor
        
               freckled blossoms, tired
               eve of tiger daylight &
              
steam whimpers from your
               shadowy ash
church bells ask drawn-out questions for dogs that have long been dead

     vision of an ambigous
    baritone presence
    
     daisies & mist settling over the valley
     & the estate burned down! & multitudes of trees pray for your shoulders to be relieved of dragging your own grave
    
      & expressed expressed expressed
        until exhaustion
        
         & the thread of thought is naked the tone is optimistic
        
          The miracle is upon us
(the miracle)

            shrines are rebuilding
            patiently
            
I can feel a pheonix glow
can you feel it, too?


(and I and you and the animal outside and its noise and how it increases in size
and how the earth shakes from the vibrations and we try to sleep it off
we cannot distract ourselves from
the wind
is tearing apart the decorations we had on the balcony
the land is stirring with consciousness
it is whispering but the whole world whispering is
A great tectonic force

we will not run
we will sing too
we will sing)

my mind river pursues this
event

& babylonian cities flower from
the weathered
sea
      eager to join our laughter

The muscle squeezes and contracts
So you can only take shallow breaths
Tired and sore
Like strained muscles after a run
You know why?
That's the heart working doubly hard
To keep you alive
When your spirit wants to die

Do you ever wonder...

Are my words even heard?
Do they shoot silently in the night like a star...
or
Do they blast with multitudinous force into the festival sky like fireworks,
Crackling through your ear...

Do they matter?
Do they float past your mind,
as easily as a speck of sand swirls
Around the desert...
Or
Do they land steady in your heart fibers,
Impacting your world as heavily as the breath that fills your lung?

Will you remember them tomorrow?
Do they disappear the way that a soft murmur melts into your shadow?
or
Do they tarry, like a chill running down your spine,
leaving behind imprints of my lips to remember them by?

I wonder...

Should I wait sometime
to tell her how I feel for her? If so,
when does the coral reef know
when to spawn? They say on the fifth night
after the November full moon. Her birthday
is too far away to see from here; her eyes:
two flashes of light on the horizon.
My mother and sister mentioned I stay still
12 weeks, Lao Tzu said until my mud settles.
Tamia and Charmaine insisted now. I looked
to Rumi, and he smiled back patience.
A patient person does not have to ask how long?
And here I am: counting
the minutes between her texts,
on her replies as breaths;
poring over
the pictures of her - in my hand, in my mind.
One moment she feels close, the next
she is the grain of sand I try to keep in my palm.
Patience is praise, says Rumi.
In it the right action will arise, added Lao Tzu.
That is where I must be, whispers my heart.