my heads in the air but my eyes face the ground
not much of a view and theres nobody around
its not lack of interest i just need to think
no time to gawk at the beautiful green

your stems all twisted round so your flowers face the ground
why cant you keep up with my needs
your general love feels like a crowd

what will i say when i get another chance in time
ill just read another line from some book i had stuck in my mind
you'll love my words
you'll remember them when you die

you'll chose to be forever with me
as long as im alive

just cruising along
waiting for someone to get on.

i can take you for ride anywhere you want to go
just don't ask me to take you home
cause there's no longer a home for you to go back to
im sorry but thats the truth.

don't stick to anything
defy gravity
creep up the walls of glass

no heat
super conductivity
zero viscosity

helium 2
your a super fluid
and you show that

drip out the bottom
of the seemingly solid mass

helium 2
your a super fluid
and you show that

redefining how i think
about cold liquid gas

the ocean came into my class one day
no knock
no introductions.
she told me to hold onto my desk, and I kept forgetting to breathe
but she washed over me calm and sweet.
her water felt more like my mother's touch
than my father's.

"you won't have to ask me about it when the time comes" she said
—as if I would!—
"I'm all for secrets,
as long as I know them(just tell me a little bit, please)
it's better that way, for my health and all"
she was more informal than I expected,
she told me that I'd be better off alone:
"someone like you" —as if I didn't know who I was!—
"should always keep a hand nearby.
it's easier to stay standing when you know you won't fall"

I listened for a bit to the waves
lapping up against the chalkboard—as if I could read it anyway!—
and when the bell rang the room cleared
alone, she whispered "this is better for us"
and I wasn't sure what she meant, but I nodded from my desk
"this is better than talking"
she held me close, inside of her.
her touch felt more like my own than anyone else's.

How come stuffed animals get old?
You wanted to pretend that your parents weren't "cool" and you'd grown up so much that you didn't have those moments in the middle of the night where silence surrounds you and you're struck by the fact that you're desperately, helplessly alone and afraid- or maybe you did but you wouldn't need something to squeeze for reassurance.
You never asked until someone told you, and then you wanted to be best friends with your mom and the quiet, intellectual boy who sat in the corner and never took notes or made eye contact- you called yourself an artist so that you could be the millionth first girl to paint their hair and cut it short and stop sleeping except in the middle of the day.
You started to fear sunshine, probably because you couldn't see yourself and didn't want anyone else to, either. You avoided mirrors and moments alone, and you forgot what made your fingers so delicate - it wasn't the loose grip on a cigarette - and you forgot what your voice sounded like because you never stopped talking; it became your peaceful silence to dress up as somebody with confidence and talk and laugh without hearing what you say and touch as many bodies as you can - when it's only skin, they're all the same...
People move too much to hold you up, and someone let you drop, more than once... You can keep getting as angry as you want, but it isn't their lack of love that's keeping you from realizing that you've been the one leaning on people and trying to use other people's feet... They're trying to love you, but it's hard because you never stopped long enough in front of a mirror to figure out who the ******* are.
They'll always be there, and you'll be the last person to realize that you need to leave them behind.

Through all the ways I feel
while every other explanation
clouds my mind,
to be with you now
still fades into highlights
as the music of my soul.

Tinted bit by bit by what is lost
is tomorrow,
bathed in bright tracks
everyone can see leaving
as I tried to
for years and years.

Dancing in the air
are thoughts
that do not know your name
with voices
breathing doubt
into my senses.

Now will endless seconds
share the same sky
with the prelude
that resonates
from everything I know?

Does a chance watch a veil
climb the stairway of daydreams
with eyes
that give what is inside
of me away?

While I long to call what runs around me,
only minutes
of which I have no control,
and like a giant oak
I bend against my grain.

After circling through all the ways I feel
and dancing in the air
with these thoughts;
I find everything
has become tinted bit by bit
by what is found today.

So now I watch darkness
escape up the stairway of daydreams
while chance takes its warmth
from the veil as it falls.

Still, while I may long to call what we are,
miles away from love,
I find myself following
all the ways
I feel about you.

(For Donald Hall)

Have you heard about the boy who walked by
The black water? I won't say much more.
Let's wait a few years. It wanted to be entered.
Sometimes a man walks by a pond, and a hand
Reaches out and pulls him in.

There was no
Intention, exactly. The pond was lonely, or needed
Calcium, bones would do. What happened then?

It was a little like the night wind, which is soft,
And moves slowly, sighing like an old woman
In her kitchen late at night, moving pans
About, lighting a fire, making some food for the cat.

I go to the door often.
Night and summer. Crickets
lift their cries.
I know you are out.
You are driving
late through the summer night.

I do not know what will happen.
I have no claim on you.
I am one star
you have as guide; others
love you, the night
so dark over the Azores.

You have been working outdoors,
gone all week. I feel you
in this lamp lit
so late. As I reach for it
I feel myself
driving through the night.

I love a firmness in you
that disdains the trivial
and regains the difficult.
You become part then
of the firmness of night,
the granite holding up walls.

There were women in Egypt who
supported with their firmness the stars
as they revolved,
hardly aware
of the passage from night
to day and back to night.

I love you where you go
through the night, not swerving,
clear as the indigo
bunting in her flight,
passing over two
thousand miles of ocean.

I'm normally a reserved person,
But you tear that out of me with unbridled passion.
I think you like to watch me squirm.

I know so much about you,
But there is still so much more to learn.
I wouldn't have it any other way.

I need to pace myself,
But something about you urges me forward.
I'm tired of stagnancy.

I've heard of this feeling,
But I have always figured people were just exaggerating.
I can't wait to find out.

I hadn't written in years,
But I find myself breaking that tradition.
I guess I found my muse.

Look yonder at the graceful misty suggestions
Delivering  a gentle welcoming gain
Evanescent, yet so remarkably memorable
Infused with the kiss of rain

A fine gossamer glaze of crystalline blue
Creates a jubilant rhapsody
Vigorously dancing within the rushing embrace
Of the passion, known as the sea

Flawless perfection, delicately fragile as porcelain
Unfaltering, lines of exquisite detail
Quietly content the eye  of the beholder
On a stately sensational scale

There is splendid comfort in the quiet of the offing
As the cherished waves rush ashore
Appealing to all of our tender hearts and minds
Compelling the joyful need for more