I could feel your absence as much as your presence.
2. You were the sun and now you are gone.
3. All is without life.

We are walking, we are chanting, we are praying
though many before us were killed and maimed
we stand in peace, we are in love with the sky,
the earth, the water, the father and the mother

We stand together, we watch the river flood
through the years spilling over with human blood
Praying peace and clean water for our earth mother
praying one day all will come to know
the intricate connection we have to each other
realize how we harm ourselves
when we harm another

We cry with the sky tears
water protectors in the river

Jade tree cuttings
In window sill tray

Pictures on walls

Panama hat
Hooked

Not a stick of
Furniture
To soften the bones

Home sweet home

Crescent moon
Through
Undraped window

i give
and give
and continue to give
even if i know it hurts,
even if it hurts
and keeps on hurting.

this is what's sad about
loving too much.
you give your all,
every single inch of skin,
every single tick of the clock,
every single breath i breathe.

and i know it hurts,
and it will keep on hurting.

but that is what love is.
finding the end to the hurt
until the only thing you feel
is peace.

Words could be a dangerous thing.
Once they are said, they can’t be forgotten.
But what’s more even dangerous is the idea of ‘you’
Once, you felt home but soon became storm.

Love stories could be a wonderful thing.
Once they are read, they can fascinate us.
But our story wasn’t perfect as everyone would expect,
It narrates how you put me into dark abyss of loneliness.

Songs could be a powerful magic.
Once they are heard, they give meaning to everything.
Yet our song consists of sad melody and unsaid words,
It is pleasant until it drowns you.

And like a photograph that captures everything,
That is supposed to be kept on your pocket.
But our photograph isn’t worth to keep
I’d rather let it carried by flood along with your memories.

Like the bulls in every existing china shop,
we danced clumsily past midnight.

The soles of our feet sticking
to the hardwood floor of my living room,
twirling, dizzy--
in hopes that if our souls learned how to tango,
minute hands would cease
to spin.

It was holy bliss.
It was the sweat shop
factory of affection.
Our bodies-- luminous in the
palest moonlight, a passerby
might have believed
we were angels.

Even now, as we sit
in the midst of silent tension,
furrowed brows of frustration
with no words left to promenade
out of our jaded bodies,

I watch your chest rise and fall
to the hostile melody of our
fruitless accusations, each breath
a reminder of our dance.

Your soul is still liquid music to my ears.
And as long as it continues to play,
I will stay, the hem of my dress floating in motionless air--
waiting for midnight
to intertwine our silhouettes.