So many thoughts feelings expressions emotions
locked behind deadpan eyes and a voice that's toneless.
A mountain of a person consolidated to this form.
A body unimpressive.
A face unexpressive.
The chaos upstairs requires all of my attention.

Conversing takes a back-seat which is why I seem distant.
Too many things to say only leaves me in silence.
I don't know how or where to begin.
If only I could let you inside to weather the storm
maybe you could make sense of this nonsense and bring me to port.

We attempt rescue, unable to bear
the stardust-coated dragonfly
beat, beat, beating
frantic on the glass.

We entice him to perch
on our extended lifeline-broom
nurse him in a box, where he flutters
quivers, lies quietly blue.

My son cries bitterly
as we place a minute cross
upon the dragonfly grave
while intoning our final goodbyes:

We honor those who have fallen victim
to this fatal architectural trap, lured
by skylights of enticing white-light death
and the paned illusion of freedom.

In admiration of winged determination
and perseverance in the face of futility
we carefully tend the fragile, curved bodies
lay them here to rest under the mock orange.

years of gauze-weighted detritus
swept beneath these ponderous shrubs
a reminder - what seems like freedom
                                                         ­           often isn’t.

I remembered
I promised you a poem,
In fact one a day for our love-
There's a problem though,
I can't seem to get them out:

   Because your presence
   Is like a million words,
   A thesaurus sitting right
   Next to me,
   And what you are to me
   When you are with me is an
   Eternal sonnet.
   But when I tried I began to
   Understand something that brings
   My understanding of us clearer,
   That we are the same in separate
   Places, in the same solitude
   Without knowing each other's
   Pain or fatigue.
   That we are both not people,
   But the wind freed in our selves,
   A gale freed from the conventional
   And we become a sudden verse,
   Nostalgic and naive,
   Stubbornly young and hopeful,
   There in that place,
   When we are together,
   I cannot write the poem
   That has not yet finished
   Being written.

Die into me,

Every kiss is a prayer
As I whisper a prophesy
         To your body.

          The night will keep us
As we constellate our passion.

I die into you,

      I await you on the other side,
There open my soul
      And read the inscription:

   He died a thousand times,
Reborn inside her,
    The Sacrificial Lover.