My Pillow gazes upon me at night
Empty as a gravestone;
I never thought it would be so bitter
To be alone,
Not to lie down asleep in your hair.

I lie alone in a silent house,
The hanging lamp darkened,
And gently stretch out my hands
To gather in yours,
And softly press my warm mouth
Toward you, and kiss myself, exhausted and weak-
Then suddenly I'm awake
And all around me the cold night grows still.
The star in the window shines clearly-
Where is your blond hair,
Where your sweet mouth?

Now I drink pain in every delight
And poison in every wine;
I never knew it would be so bitter
To be alone,
Alone, without you.

I like a man with fire in his bones
And where his head should be,
There is a home.

And I wax and wane like the moon
If you turn away you might miss me,
I'll be gone soon.

I cannot be doing with this peering into the darkness
This wondering and dreaming is a little tiring, my darling -
As tired as the dusty cornflowers, once upon a time, beguiling.
Your heart - perched and sat - is being wasted, love pouring
Upon something that will be, nevermore.

I was growing a flower,
I gave it all a flower may need,
but I never saw its bloom
because all along it was a ****.

You play with the great globe of union,
you that see everyone so clearly
and cannot be seen. Even universal


intelligence gets blurry when it thinks
you may leave. You came here alone,
but you create hundreds of new worlds.



Spring is a peacock flirting with
revelation. The rose gardens flame.
Ocean enters the boat. I throw
it all away, except this love for Shams.

I been drawing my fingers
with a couple of colors
                                      my blue nails
                                      reflect of my mind
charming
flying
singing with the wind night melodies
changing
moving leaves
dancers
being alone
being human
palpitations
                                               an a gasp
feelings are forgotten
into the sea
beneath the sky.

If hell is engulfed in fire
as bright as the sun,
And heaven is lit
by a divine light,
Then I shall die with sunglasses.

In love, nothing exists between heart and heart.
Speech is born out of longing,
True description from the real taste.
The one who tastes, knows;
the one who explains, lies.
How can you describe the true form of Something
In whose presence you are blotted out?
And in whose being you still exist?
And who lives as a sign for your journey?

The lamp post flickers.
The fresh air calls to me.
Phone to ear,
I step outside to venture
On these dark roads.
Its cool, but I feel warm
The sweetness of laughter,
the prospect of hope
the comfort of your being.

Always it happens when we are not there--
The tree leaps up alive into the air,
Small open parasols of Chinese green
Wave on each twig. But who has ever seen
The latch sprung, the bud as it burst?
Spring always manages to get there first.

Lovers of wind, who will have been aware
Of a faint stirring in the empty air,
Look up one day through a dissolving screen
To find no star, but this multiplied green,
Shadow on shadow, singing sweet and clear.
Listen, lovers of wind, the leaves are here!

Do not stand at my grave and weep..
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry..
I am not there. I did not die.

he grabbed shards of my skin
bone fragments scattered throughout the grass
leftover scraps of intestines and various other guts
the wiry strands of my veins
my faintly-beating heart

sitting cross-legged along the bank of the river
stringing me back together with superglue and ligaments
warmth and contentment