some come to serve all
the missing continents reveal their bodies
they arouse Great Spirit
like volcanoes announcing their roll call
i awake the storm of love
without my compass
i can't tell if we are off course
but who really knows anyway
if your desert walks and soul visions
are gesticulations as ubiquitous as dust
our minds and bodies align with memories
while cowards of sound  
hide themselves behind the echos
of cavernous hollows
heaven brought you to me
for beautiful kisses
so that salt and sulphur
would anchor our alchemical quicksilver
your studs and your mares
know nothing more
then to keep a few crumbs
wedged behind the cupboards
in case somebody lost themselves
along the road to the temple

accountants may tell you
that they allow the light to shine
through their tiny peepholes
yet in treacherous times
like lightning they swallow the sky whole
so your emotions can rent empty rooms
in their vacant hallways
feelings help guide you upon your journey into tomorrow
until you are able to penetrate
with bottomless compassion
and then part ways just before the hour fades
in rhythm with our future
and the Goddess (god-lioness)
says that the eye (of time) is within you

in such a short while
rebel eyes real eyes the relative lies in their relatives' eyes
like fireflies they dance upon the pavement
have you lifted the hem of your sky lately
and listened to the falling leaves
surrounding us in love

gay*
/pronounced gaaaay/*
noun

1. bandages through the body, old turtleneck sweaters, hidden love bites, vexed skin, a body meant for poetry, shivering, cold, like in the night, happy, but afraid, every time someone calls out your name.

2. Shivering again, happy, but afraid, again. *******, Rushed, Dim lights, pleasure without any sound, no moaning, mourning.

3. Lovers without name.

at first glance we're
all just looking
for a hand to hold
and a set of lips
to kiss-
but dig little deeper
and you'll find
that we're all in
desperate
need of ourselves.

from the bank
I see the ghost of a pier
old posts standing solitaire
a ramp rotted, long gone

moored to one stubborn beam,
a bass boat, tethered to time, rocking
with the whims of the waters
fickle, but steady

storms upriver may hasten
the current, bloat the stream
though the flow never ends,
lapping against the hull

hiding inside are more ghosts:
phantom footfalls of fishermen,
odors as old as Eden, sounds
which once made songs

by those who cranked the motor,
manned the rudder and cast the lines
into the depths, seeking a tug--a pull
that meant dinner, a small success

a simple surrender of one species
to another, from beneath the surface
into the sun, a sublime suffocation,
then stillness before the gutting

many a day ended this way
the boat buoyed again to the dock
bellies then filled from the sacrifice,
the waters licking long the wood

i.

the grey ghosts
water to the sky,
pond to the
breaking air,

the blues are
cloudy
islands and
stars, lily pad
gold-green
dream of monet-
light.

ii.

love drifts,
scurries over
the water like
a dragonfly,
her wings the light
flowing, melting
in its breathful
streams

falling
falling
in the delicate
colours of
spring with
its tide-like
ebb and flow.

iii.

i held you
close and you
were the
aching spring,
the bright
opals of the moon,

i held you close
and all i could see
where the blues of
the pond, the
snake-silver
stream of starlight
and flower,

you were the
aching bronzes
of the rivery
pools, the still
water's paradise
of blue and white.

iv.

capture me
in the cloudy
isles of
the bright
lilies,

i am the melting
light, the frail
bloom with its
zen-like peace,
church of quiet
air, hopeful stream
of ache and light.

v.

ghost-enamels
of impression,

silently, the sun
sinks and the golds
of spring blossom
like a spell.

everything of
me was choir-song

every bolt of
air,
every summer
moon,
every drop of
cooling rain,

in spring i
melted like
a hedgerow,
in gold and
sky-bronze,

in summer i
gathered the sky
to my branches
green with shadows
of longing,

in autumn i trembled
downwards like a
girl unwinding her
hair,

and in winter i froze
on the doorstep
all black branch
and cold
rigging on
a barren ship,

everything of me
was choir-song and
i had the most
beautiful
purple throat,

i was a soft
melody of love
on a strange
moody day.