The snow silences everything.
I walked,
nearly barefoot,
into the whited sepulchre
of my backyard this
evening.
And everything was white
and the same
and silent
like the
grave.

I hummed a low note
just to break the
silence.
Just to make
absolutely
sure I was not
in fact
already dead.

It was
almost
a perfect moment
of absolute oneness
and sameness
and purity.

And as I began to **** into the unbroken blanket of snow, I pondered
if we are not
destined
to break the silence.

I have but only
Finite lights,
And each cruel word
Breaks bulbs.

i cried so much
that the cries turned into screams
and i drowned in my own salt water

advice
wise words
feel much more like
talking down
than heping

When you plunged
The light of Tuscany wavered
And swung through the pool
From top to bottom.

I loved your wet head and smashing crawl,
Your fine swimmer's back and shoulders
Surfacing and surfacing again
This year and every year since.

I sat dry-throated on the warm stones.
You were beyond me.
The mellowed clarities, the grape-deep air
Thinned and disappointed.

Thank God for the slow loadening,
When I hold you now
We are close and deep
As the atmosphere on water.

My two hands are plumbed water.
You are my palpable, lithe
Otter of memory
In the pool of the moment,

Turning to swim on your back,
Each silent, thigh-shaking kick
Re-tilting the light,
Heaving the cool at your neck.

And suddenly you're out,
Back again, intent as ever,
Heavy and frisky in your freshened pelt,
Printing the stones.

Soft cathedral daggers over a whisper of hot flesh
you unfolded a chariot
blossoming into moonshine
echoing in eternity
there is only
this
what more need we ask for
but
this

Psychic fixes lay dormant on a floor mat
huddle the young
warm feelings under red scarves
away from vapid decay
turn feral, child
in this warm space
we’ve carved
just
for
you