Wading,
A miracle in the water

There in the distance
A star sinks elongated

One life,
Sailing seven days

Seven seas blue
From a sky too far to sail

Dark waters
Under enveloped storms

Why sink
When floating in the air,

Just below
Above the sky of the sea?

Seven seas
I will never drink....

Life waters.

(explicit)

**** my soul
        with poetry
           scream out my gracious name
             slay me with words
               that peel my layers
                and simultaneously
                                   drive me
                                           insane

finger me slowly, hotly
with just the right rhythm and rhyme
    push me past my
                 tender limits
                       into tongues of syntax,
                                                      sublime

a­lliterate my senses
   (in swift stac
                    c-at
                           o)
until my mind is but blank verse
    mess up my stressed
              and unstressed syllables
in unsung language, versed

I will speak to you in vowels
(the only sound
       I will be able to make)
as you stroke
   my iambic pentameter
             in the heat of frothed-up
                                                     ache

we are this heroic couplet, you see
        even if the meaning seems veiled
           no need for simile or metaphor
               as I feel your chest rise
                              in deep inhale

we are a natural paradox
       so many ironies abound
         discordant harmony
is our synaesthesia
     in visible darkness found

and I love this delicious enjambment
as your aura invisibly slips
                               into mine
our lines have no beginning,
                                 no end
    as we undo
          the boundaries
                      of time

A mountain hemorrhages cliffs of
sunlight just outside my dark front door;
it is the fifth wonder of my universe,
a morning marvel
framed by coffee
and cigarette smoke; it is
love, with hair of lush pine needles,
and a chest like an arm of dirt:

in your too-old two old
river-bed shoes,
in your dry desert clothing,
why does the fog beat you
like an immovable heart?

How can something so old
be dying; is the sky an
unforgiving wrinkle

more canyon than harbor,
or ship without captain

are we all
all we are
at the end, or is there more?

I sometimes cry when I write
when the words hit my sight,
no matter, painful or of delight
sometimes I cry when I write.

When emotions hit the page
no matter, happy or of rage
feelings of dark or light
sometimes I cry when I write.

When I write about you
or the beauty of sparkling dew,
no matter, love or of strain
the tears fall just the same.

I sometimes cry when I write
no matter, dark or of light,
sometimes my heart takes control
I guess that’s just the beauty of my soul.

Sometimes I cry when I write…..

If were I to see a way to not be me or
to see a day
I could be anybody
If were the day to only be longer
many things
might be
I see
If were I to see myself truly
I may be surprised
Perhaps I am okay
or the right time has come where
If I were to be a
an apple or peach or bean
and I was picked
by someone
maybe a fair laddie
put into her basket
taken home
might I sprout?

The ocean through an opened window
Frontier between all that's known
of here
and sleep
riding out the waves as they come

A gull cries in passing

Waves sating themselves
in the womb of the earth
kissing the neck of Bride's Brook
Her seaweed streaming hair
in wind of tides
The moon's pull to release
coaxing spent and tender moans--

the farthest reach of sighs