i remember me and you, the you who is underneath
the failing heart, smoke brained; the sister dunking you,
the you who took me fishing.
and helped me rescue a butterfly on the beach
whose wings were wet and was half buried
in the sand...you held it in your fumbling hands
until it could move again
and we watched it fly away. if it wasn't for us,
that butterfly would have died.
now you are
the butterfly; you sit in God's hands.

i feel faint.
actually i feel the solid parts of myself seem to be
dripping away;
a dog could lap my sanity off the floor.

someone really fainting
could wash their hair in my skin;
someone scared
could slip in me and fall to who knows where.

"hey cathy it's dan"
they are solid, also known as
not fainting.

in a cafe in oklahoma! surprise!
are they home there with each other?
well it is known...they are known.
we are not.
we are faint: some
glimmer on the pearls of her teeth.

disappearing.
someone wearing cowboy boots
has never ridden a horse...
how is it the world has come to
this?
sad, fainting

everything boiling in simmering water
everything good boiling
everything good is leaving home
for the coast of faint stardom
faintly singing stars...
among them
she has a humble heart.

somewhere, God paints a figure
painting a figure -
up on a podium
is a new heart -
it is small.
faintest heart beat.

an even fainter kiss,
goodbye.

is that faint wave in the distance
really
a good-bye?

on most days
i feel like i don't fit in
in a daze
in-side the lonesome house
power to get out
out-side i don't fit in

i can hear deafening screams
the outside nighttime calls out
and flashes disguises the moonlight
pulls the cloak over our eyes and
calls itself daytime
for a picture of that blue sky.

only it's the middle of the night
and a neighbors drunken boyfriend
has left the door unlocked
and unhinged and screaming
open
so all the animals can flee out
while the insects
trickle
in.

and this is where we make our home
on the outskirts of dysfunctional
bordering loony
keeping the balloon tied down
by threads on our tent stakes in the ground
and even those move
campsite to campsite, past adventure and
future chaos - excitement
lingers
in the carnivorous blows of midnight winds
pleading us all stay inside, cocooned
has me begging for company
within my room; reminding me home
is the thing that never leaves the soul
once she's here.

is the echo
that the scary but empty thunder
trails behind in the noiseless spaces.

yet the sound of patter on the concrete
not even a samurai sword could swing through
like running naked and exposed
through wet grass lawn and
prodding danger
with a skinny stick stabbing marshmallows
to mend the wound
that lightning brings
like when everything hurts
that the light in her eyes
sees what we are trying to hide
sees and does not question
knows and does not cower
accepts and does not judge
the tower
of beckoning searching power
is as mystic as the magic behind
the truth that its miraculous we're still here
beating chambers of our hearts to open
into that stormy night
and beam our ships back home
like bearing wedding rings
that will only officially make us wives
to bruise our loyalty with kung-fu
and pirating
but we will make that wreckage
into battered art and take fear
into our shaking arms
swaddle its rain soaked face
in warmth

teach it love
consists of way more than two parts
whisper
that every ghost has its dance
every bull has its muscle and its horn
and every soul
has its retreat into the unknown
yet it spills grace
to grab it by the throat
scream there's still hope
and stand up toward
the blackout of a thunderstorm
ringing
like the doorbell might break down
and she would rush in
to swaddle doubt once again
against the cradle of her belly
to sing: *shh, hush, now...
it's me, i've got you.

what a game being played
I feel the strings
not yet fine tuned to my soul
stretching
they want to be taut
to be taught
to step away
from hurt, loss, happiness
none of it is mine
I am separate.
outside of this experience
there is laughter to be had.
of course there are feelings to feel
and things blockading my clear canvas but
outside of this
there is time to learn
things to teach
there is wisdom to be taut
so the events of nonlinear, wavy days
can pass, as it all must.
greater opportunity
to uncover the self and harness
the only distinct power that one has.
nothing
is forever.
but it happened and there is time
to make it all happen.
understand it will never happen
that way
again.
we are all going.
I don't want to be left behind and I don't want
to leave anything behind.
we are all alone.
but that doesn't have to hurt us