Do not stand at my grave and weep..
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry..
I am not there. I did not die.

She walks in beauty, like the night
     Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
     Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
     Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
     Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
     Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
     How pure, how dear their dwelling place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
     So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
     But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
     A heart whose love is innocent!

little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.

Music I heard with you was more than music,
And bread I broke with you was more than bread;
Now that I am without you, all is desolate;
All that was once so beautiful is dead.

Your hands once touched this table and this silver,
And I have seen your fingers hold this glass.
These things do not remember you, beloved,--
And yet your touch upon them will not pass.

For it was in my heart you moved among them,
And blessed them with your hands and with your eyes;
And in my heart they will remember always,--
They knew you once, O beautiful and wise.

I want to feel your silky hair tangled in my fingers when we kiss.
I want to feel the weight of your head resting on my shoulder when I hug you, or, even better, when you hug me.
I want to feel your nose barely brushing mine, because we’re standing close so that our faces don’t quite meet, but our breath has become synced.
I want to feel your warm lips dancing with my own, or gently touching my forehead right before we say goodnight.
I want to feel your arms holding me tight against you, in a way that makes me feel, for once, that I’m not alone in this cruel world.
I want to feel your hand, locked in mine and squeezing gently to remind me that you’re still there.
I want to feel your feathery fingertips, placing my hair behind my ear, or softly rubbing my arm when I feel anxious.
I want to feel your shoulders supporting me when we’re watching movies and I’m too tired to keep my head up.
I want to feel your stomach and your hips touching my own when we make love, or when we just stand in each other’s embrace for hours.
I want to feel your chest beneath me, slowly moving up and down as you dream, when I’m restless and using you as my pillow.
I want to feel your legs barely touching me as you move in your sleep, and your feet getting tangled up with mine when we lie side by side in bed at night.
I want to feel all of you, anywhere in the world, anytime of day or night.
I want you.