Have you ever seen
the earth give birth
to a new day at the
bottom of a whiskey bottle.

Well neither have I,
but I once stayed up all night
in an attempt to count the stars
and bring order to chaos.

In that moment,
head against grass against ground
I knew what it means to rest,
to be at peace for the first time.

Like all things that night it too
died along with peace and stars,
but sometimes in the right moments.
I can look up and feel at home.

At the exact moment night kiss me goodbye,
on the edge of a dying summer
I found hope at the tip of a pencil
that glided across line paper.

I wouldn’t call it the bottom
of Pandora’s box, but
for the first since I could remember
my heart started to beat again.

Not like a herd of racing horses
like they way poets fall in love,
but rather more like a leaky faucet
that has brought an end to this drought.

I ask don’t confuse this revelation
with a permanent conclusion.
It just a promise against odds
that recovery can be found in these words.

We were junkies who fell in love with moonlight
praise the heavens under street lights,
found God in the corner of graffiti covered alleyway.

We were  cracked in all the right places,
but never mistaken the shattered lines
for being broken, this is just how we made art.

Once, at two in the morning we found
the meaning of life scribbled on the back
crumpled up bar napkin filled completely with hearts.

And I swear that was the second most beautiful
thing I have ever seen. Of course the first being
they way this town burnt when we left it.

I wonder if God can forgive us?
Not for our sins, but rather
for all the words we didn’t say,
and all the ones we did.

It was February and the moon
was as full as your heart and
almost as bright as your eyes
when you said “I love you.”

I like a fool echoed it back.
Maybe because it was
so cold outside and you
were the first fire I ever known.

But what did I know of love?
Two weeks later, buried underneath
layers of blankets lost in the moment
I thought perhaps this is what love taste like.

Somehow I thought we could learn to
make our bodies stick together,
like a well packed snowball,
but cold and fire do not go together.

No matter how hard I tired
this body never could stick.
Still I played the part like a soldier's
who since forgotten what he was fighting for.

It was April when the deception
faded away with the last winter’s snow.
Still I could not learn how to love,
so you left, taking the only love I have ever felt.

Now it is July and I bask in the summer sun,
pray to be forgiven for not knowing how to open up.
Praying to be given another chance
at the thing the poets called love.

I was told to call this body home.
To walk barefooted through my veins
like they were red painted hallways
and to find a place to lay this head.

Still others say this body is a temple.
But what type of temple is not filled
with the faithful signing heavenly praise.
This body would be an empty church.

Now I don’t know much about God,
but I do know enough to say that
he wouldn’t visit this chapel.
These bones no longer know how worship.

If this body be not a home or a temple
then what is left but a prison.
A prison made of flesh to keep in
the last of a dying soul.

We, people like us,
the night children,
midnight dreamers,
star catchers.

Us who have tattooed
love upon our arms
then wear long sleeves
to cover it up.  

We have pulled back the veil
and dare to look behind.
Shined light upon the darkness
only to see our reflection.

Those who have stood
upon the edge,
daring the wind to push them over
I name you brother.

And you, who has been kissed
by the fire and yet
does not allow it to consume
you shall be called sister.

For we were made
for this moment.
And my God, we
are going to be great.

My mother always said
do not get too close to that which burns against the night.
If you touch something that is hot you will get burnt.
For what is a cup of water against the inferno.

When I met you,
burning like a spring wildfire,
turning brown to a hundred colors of red
I knew not to get to close.

I have known fires like you before.
You are the type that consumes everything.
Your kiss is a little to hard,
only leaving behind the taste of ash in my mouth.

You see I once knew another conflagration like you.
Her flame glowed liked heavenly fire.
I knew I had to touch her,
forgetting everything mother told me about getting to close.

Soon we burnt together, lighten up the sky like manhattan.
But it is true what they say about the brightest of fires,
they are always the first to burn out.
When her flame turned the other way, I burnt out.

Yet now another fire,
just as beautiful appears in front of me.
Though this time, I remember mother’s words.
My heart, still blistered from the old burns.

I knew now not to touch, but watch from the distances.
I could say I love the flame that was you,
the one that warmed my face like summer sunshine,
but how can you love without touching?

Like a fool I gathered water,
splashing it against the wall of your flames.
Trying to cool my to be lovers hand,
but how was I to know she too could drown.

You see her mother told her something too.
She said watch out for wave that lap against your ankles,
they try to pull you under, and your lungs,
they cannot handle that kind of pressure.

In my hubris I pulled under the flame,
drowning her in my waters, trying to claim her as mine.
But this time when the winds shifted,
I was the one to leave the coals smoldering.