such a speech may sound superfluous
as screamed in to the sky each night but know that
such a thing won’t hinder me.
a heavy heart is lightened only by such a redundancy
and to the sky
I scream,
each night I cry:
that if it were forbidden I’m sure you would hear my whispers,
but such a heavy heart
cannot be eased by silent storms
so I scream:
thunderous,
I scream as if I’ve lost my king,
I tell him of our suffering;
through harsh winds of our galaxy
I scream with my solemnity,
he shall indeed our agony take heed.
my voice may wander eons and in fact I hope it so,
for I do not wish to beg and I do not wish
to crawl(once you told me I was strong)
I shall be with you ‘fore long,
this in my consiousness I see
so t'wards this sky I scream,
and I shall scream with no disdain;
my king will guide us with his light again.

You were in your forties then, lived upstairs with your
old man, gave the neighborhood someone to feel better
than. I was maybe nine or ten, and Franny, oh! I could
have cried when he blacked your pretty gypsy eye and
Franny, oh! my restored hope when I saw Joe, his lip laid
open; Franny, you could throw a punch. So here's to right
hooks, Franny. Here's to gin before lunch. Here's to street
smarts and cunning hearts. I didn't end up like you. I got
out of the neighborhood. I'm my own woman; that's our
slogan, but you know, Franny, sometimes even that 
makes me feel like I'm swinging my fists in a third floor flat.

New colors embrace the memory of life’s soil
while looking at promises
that rush through our veins.
A tune is heard from our hearts'
circling places in time
where our eyes become the surface
of our souls,
greeting what we see floating
on the winds
of change.

Clearly visible as separate bodies
held on a spun web
of gypsy invitation,
why then do we only remember
the perfect peace
of how our minds meet.  
You touch each breath I draw in
as if hunting down my despair
until it becomes as smoke
with leaving feet.

Before the stars were chiseled into an age
that held us captive,
sleep was where the light of the moon
played innocently.  
Father Fate swirls, renames himself
with each breath I take,
keeping time for the promises
of true love
that still sing out
to you and me.

even on gloomy
days, the sparrow's song –
warmth of her smile

--

cumulus –
a hawk spirals down
the updraft

--

ancient pine –
the sun climbing
limb by limb

.

While this new fire burns,
casts its light on your face,
I will learn every crease,
every worry tucked within.
And what of your hands,
what of these knuckles,
large and calloused pearls
that never knew the sea;
why this salt on my tongue-tip
the quiver of tidal currents
carried through you and so
into me. I would have it all
to be sweet, to be dear,
while this new fire burns.

I could tell you how the Square looks
sketched in moonlight;
I know the smell of mist fresh off the river,
and night air that parts like tired curtains,
with wet heat that sighs
and slaps the dock when you move on;
I’ve felt what a saxophone does
to the heart
over water,
and how a man’s voice sounds best after smoking,
but a woman’s is best after ***.

There are ghosts in these streets,
but they don’t hunger anymore;
hunger is for the living
not satisfied
with light.