eclipsed by clouds, the moon still shines
over amaranth fields, and ocean brine
over waves of water and land
stretch the light of lunar hands
touching down, a twisted ladder
kundalini as an adder
such sweet teeth are these
but I have a feeling that the echelons are only echos

this is a collaborative
the paint runs freely
I won't tell you what to say

I'll bring you my fruition
of the fermentation
of the pulling apart
the space between
gossamer webs
intertwined

Drops of dew on a spider's web
the slopes of mountains
the curl of waves
ocean, sound, light
petals
flowers unfurling
it's alright
let yours roll into mine

Your voice is an echo
You know you've been here before
Turn around
and draw circles in the ground
surround

I'll hold you as long as you feel
release the speech
no need of thee
I don't want to see
turn out the lights
I don't want to hear
turn out the lights

And then we are the sea
and the back and forth
underneath
is we

let us let us go

Out of one seed
how many seeds again
to the ebon Earth
warm and returning?

Eternity presumed
in a worm-cast bedding,
rain-wet and brimming.

Open ended inception
of the dark and probable womb
making space for the determined
and all it's loose-tied light-wires
stringing off into every abyss.

Potential is Here,
still though not asleep,
she is very much alive and viable,
eyes wide beneath the surface,
her pacific inhalations
example for the dynamic,
her sighing a guide,
like a mother at length,
gently directing
the life of her child.

Out of the night
the light is risen,
out of the dusk,
a bent-spectrum slips.

In the void
there is no coming
or going,
no place else to where one may be banished.

In the open hands of odyssey
we are forever received.
Of the sojourn cyclic
myriad destinations meet in the middle
where a thousand flowers flame.

Out of one seed
how many seeds again
to the ebon Earth
warm and returning?

Sometimes he let his eyes rest on hers, it needn't have been painful,
but it strangely was.
He broke a lifetime of avoiding eye contact to show her.
She was worth overcoming obstacles for.

i took a walk in the woods.
the rain pulled my limbs
into a humble slumber.
arms swinging by sides
with nothing more
than moisture trails
and crying fingers.
and mind
and eyes
that don't want to see
what the body wants,
so badly,
to feel.

walking through falling clouds,
under living bones,
and over dead skin.
the forest is about its self.

singing about screaming,
not looking both ways
before crossing the line.
we don't have to take it
from the top
to get to the bottom;
but i guess it makes
some sort of sense that way.

humble arms swaying,
tired eyes yawning,
and the forest watches.
it's arms holding up the sky;
still humble.
it's eyes not blinded by color;
still tired.
the forest never screams.

but it hears my fire,
it feels my ice;
and i can see it cringe
out of pity,
out of a lack of understanding.
Out of myself.

Shared breaths
leaving me breathless,
in another time.
kept fresh in the smell
of honey and your pink
shellfish.
and the forest,
understanding somehow,
my contained chemical
self,
leaking from my eyes.

It's nice to be listened to.

I have faith in the omnipotence
of my true self
and am not distracted,
discouraged, or worried
by those matters in which
I feel
I have no control.

Pragmatic incantations
Of incandescent situations
Slide
          Softly
                     Soundless
Changing tributaries
of rearranging  
                         (Grin stricken
                  Hands poised to choke
                 Plans to spread the yoke
                    There flaming arms
    Your deepest thoughts they will invoke)
                              Faces
Poised to take the fibers of your being
Tie them up with a festive greeting
And hang you high to watch the bleeding