The thumb and ******* of my left hand pinched the neck of a sandglass. The sand leaving the top bulb was almost translucent, and although the glass of the miniature instrument was thick for its size, I could almost feel the friction of each grain as they slide down. As the sand formed a growing pile at the base of the bottom bulb, my ears became numb, and began to ache. My ears felt like the inside of a cathedral, the walls of which were collapsing. I look down to my right hand and see I am holding a shovel. Why do I need a shovel? I thought to myself. Then I felt my knees give way to the heaviness that surrounded them. I was sinking in sand, a giant ocean of sand. This game I had never played before now, but I somehow knew the rules. Drop the sandglass in my left hand and whatever force held this ocean around me in place would fall and shatter. Drop the shovel and I’d have no way to dig myself out.  
How does this dream end?

She sat at a table
And across from her was a
Cluster of stardust.
Its beaming fingers
Perform a coin roll dance
That seems to last a lifetime.
In a sudden motion the coin
Is tossed into the air
And with a graceful echo
Lands on the tables surface.

We all are coins.
We all are symbols of
Beautiful wealth, intelligence,
And abundance.
We all perform our coin dance.
We all have our final
Toss of time.
And we all leave behind
A unique and special echo.

I love it when I see them.
Those two lady beauties, those twin faces.
Their skin is like the snowy Sierra mountains in winter,
A Bianca so pale and that catches all the light shining around them.
Those twin smiles radiate two mysteries of the same coin.
One a mystery so solemn and careful, you could never sneak up on it.
The other a playful mystery, that with a rascal excitement
Is ready to drag you with it to find the answer.
They are beautiful!
The most unique beauty I have yet beheld.
Their presence is like a storm in the far distant sky,
The air is warm prior the approach of something powerful.
Their singing voices echo through the air and like a siren’s song  
Brings you in so you will listen closer.
Don’t stop singing. Don’t stop.
I am like a smiling child when I see them,
Those two twin beauties.

Where did you go?
The rim of the glass has my lipstick on it,
Still warm.
My patience couldn't hold.
I had to sip my excitement at bay.

Where did you go?
Come back please!
Finish this bottle with me and
Offer me the apology you promised to give
But couldn't muster the strength to give.

Talk to me!
Not the pasty lifeless wall with no name.
I am not the girl you met back then.
I am a woman ready for life's horror and beauty.

Where did you go?
Come back!!!

...

The red velvet stain on the wine glass
Is cold.
Now I guess I will finish this bottle by myself.
Cheers lonely heart.

Three hours I’ve got
Till I need to place three more quarters in the slot,
Preventing a ticket from making a print on my windshield.
Walk fast, speedy gal.
The rain is making a damp home of your hair.
Pit pat pit pat pit pit patter.
The flats that hug my feet make tiny foot prints of sound on the city side walk.
The invisible prints, with the splash and swoosh of water waves from passing cars
Makes all other sound miniscule to my ears.
I push the swinging door open
And step from chill winter air into warm chit chat filled space.
The smell of damp clothes and freshly ground espresso fills my nostrils.
My eyes welcome the sight of relaxed people and the rustic interior of the bakery, brewery, and restaurant.
Time to get cozy on my favorite bench, with a cappuccino in my hands, a book in front of me on the table, and my bubble of comfort around me.

Often these days, I am convinced that I’m crazy. As crazy as my mother, whose fear of loneliness caused her to transform from her fiery, beautiful self into a demon.  As crazy as a storm that in its chaos rips the roots of trees from the ground and destroys the home of families and sometimes families themselves.
I have the dark and light on both shoulders, my inner devil and inner angel. The devil me, with her knotted hair and ***** snarl, whispers words of suspicion and anger, constantly aiming to manipulate and self-destruct. Then there is the angel me, with bright green-blue eyes and perfect white teeth, whispering soothing reminders of beautiful memories and quiet thanks.
We all, every one of us, have our own devil and angel. Why is it that we allow this devil to exist within us, and allow our angel to be thrown to the side? Sometimes our angel wins yes, but still… until one side or the other wins, we Allow a part of us to Want to self-destruct and cause continual suffering. Why is this?

I feel as if my body is zinc and steel,
Heated to volcanic temperatures to be molded
And shaped into a train.
My body is made of all these strong, hardy metals.
It’s a body meant to pierce the winds and divide the landscapes
At a speed the eye cannot keep.
A body with a straight forward purpose;
To keep traveling and keep on shining.
Seems a lovely life doesn’t it?
Travel and wander the tracks day after day after day.
Experience the new time and time again while in one amazing physical body,
A body I can call mine.
But then what sounds continuously penetrate my metallic ears?
The shuffle of feet and the screams and cracks of tired, hot engines.
Never any QUIET!
At the very beginning it was exciting,
And stayed so for a while.
Then those new exciting sounds turned into merciless loud noise.
…
Tonight, I feel as though my body is a train made from zinc and steel.
Tonight, my mind feels like the noise and chaos of rushed steps and loud engines.
Tonight, I am a train that is screaming into the night.

Am I here?
Do I exist?
Do you see me?
Do I see myself?
Is my heart and image collateral left behind until I return?
Can you tell me?
Can I tell myself?
Who is first to really know?
Who is last?

What were your eyes seeing?
Or were they just glassy lenses with no soul behind?

What words were your lips conjuring?
Or were they chapped and dry?

What judgements and praises was your mind forming?
Or did your pulsing brain dance without a tune?

Speak to me...
I love you....
I remember you...
I love you...

The Yuba River was my heart beat.
It's rushing rapids and trickling streams my veins.
The fog that lay as blanket on the surface in early morning was my breathe.
The cold and sun touched rocks were my palms and foot soles.

Nevada City.
That little bubble of a town was my home.
Walking down Broad Street made each step I took a joyous jump.
Sitting in the Curly Wolf and the Foxhound drinking espresso to quench my caffeine addiction, always brought the calmest of tones on my mind.
Sitting in Three Forks, smiling at my coworkers, eating a croissant on my break or on my day off, always brought the warmest smile to my face.

The Yuba River. Nevada City.
The people that made me happy and the people that made me cringe.
All of it, I loved and still hold dear.

But, it was time.
On November 17th at 8 pm I buckled my strap and looked out the planes shaky window.
It was time for my adventures to begin.
I was ready to embrace this chance to start fresh.
Oh what an exciting, terrifying, incredible decision this was.
The best I've ever made.

Now, the North Cali girl
Is in New Zealand, Middle Earth, Kiwi Land.
And she is beyond happy!
Beyond joyous!
Beyond grateful!
She feels whole, and she feels independent and strong.
She's in love with herself
And everything around her.

As the Kiwis say...
Cheers

You heard of that drug?
That drug they call Love.
Na it ain't a pill or liquid on paper.
Na it ain't a shroom or leaf.
Na na na.
It ain't something you consume.
It consumes you.
No one knows how it happens,
All that anyone can agree on is
You ain't got control of it.
It just happens.

~~~~~~

Ya.
You know what drug I'm talking about.
Well man...
I'm pretty sure its consumed me.

Yesterday morning I awoke like a sparkle.
I rose from my floor mattress and danced and sang!
My clumsy fingers rummaged through the piles of clothing
Making decision a difficult annoyance.
Then finally, dressed simply and breathing heavily,
A knock sounded on my door.
There he was!
A knight so handsome and youthful it made my heart flutter.

So, my heart aflutter and my eyes a sparkle, I took steps
Side by side this gallant knight,
Off to make whatever would be made of that most beautiful day.

~~~~~~~~

The knight and I walked under the trees and
Along the shallow stream.
Walked and talked of many things.
That was the simplest afternoon I can conjure in my mind,
And it was absolutely perfect!

By the end of that afternoon we had already made
A bucket list of adventures for the coming days.
And now,
As I sit on my floor mattress typing away my heart-flutters,
I know I look forward to nothing more than adventuring and discovering
With this handsome youthful gallant knight.

Everyday I walk the sidewalks of downtown,
and everyday I hide my true feelings.
For every face I pass, I wear a mask.
This task of hiding is one I set for myself instinctively.
Each day rolls by with hiding and
A continuous hollow in me.
That hollow, for the most part, remains at a steady size,
But its when I see his face that the hollow expands.

A friendly smile takes shape on his mouth, so effortlessly.
He says my name as a person would say 'hello'.
His face doesn't show any identifiable emotion.
Its as if I am nothing more than an acquaintance he just met yesterday...

I want to stare, just stare into that beautiful plastered face of his for hours
And search for any shred of remembrance.
Remembrance that he said he cared about me.

Can't he see that the timing of his decisions involving me,
Is absolutely, painfully wrong?
Can't he at least be a friend to me in this time when I need friends?
Can't he just... care about me? Like he said he did...

Mistakes, one then another,
And again and again.
Each and all textured the same,
And for so long
Unable to be tame.
This encore of pain,
Salt on the open wounds,
All due to that everlasting, consuming fear
Of living the truth.
This encore of mistakes,
Crawling,
Gnawing.

Jeans rolled past my knees
Sleeves cut short to a v
Hair tied with elastic rubber band.
Already from shifting position
Three splinters and one rusty needle have pricked my soles.
Here on the bleachers at Pioneer Park,
That's what you become.
A splinter of wood amidst a haystack of action.
There's that group of thirty plus playing frisbee on the grassy flats, and
That group of acro yogi's you were supposed to join.
I'd rather sit here on these prickly bleachers and
Be a splinter of wood, with the sun shining and the cloudy sky drizzling,
Then go down below and be a social butterfly.
I've been that all day, now all I need is to get rained on, feel the wet,
Be a splinter of wood on the bleachers.

Sand dust paper memory,
Magnet promises that loose
Their stickiness.
Eyes so deep and empty
Like lonely water wells.
This is the man that holds
An umbrella over his head,
Even if it's not raining,
And just stands and stares
Out over the horizon sea.

Sun stained eyes
Salt textured skin
Mouth breathes in the ocean air
Nose tastes the sea-gulls shrieks
He seeks
Ocean speaks
One gives
The other takes
And both make
A balanced happiness

Sea-gull's wings glide
Mirrored by the ocean's tides
Through the folds of wind
That causes ripples and constant change
Here, there, and everywhere

Salt liquid waves
Blue stained waters
Always moving
Always changing face
Detaching shells from the sand floor
And deforming the crusted and colorful reefs

If you really love someone,
You can let them go.

Snow is falling outside
And the night wind is blowing.
Three little sisters run in the white fields,
Wearing gloves and coats.
They throw snow ***** at each other, filling the
Wind with laughter. They move away now,
And begin making a snowman.
Once his body is completed,
The girls run to fetch a blue snow-hat,
A green scarf, a carrot for the snowman’s,
And two pebbles for his eyes.
Now they have a snowy friend to keep them company.
Bells are ringing! It is time to decorate the tree!
A box is brought outside and from
It the girls pick their ornaments.
With smiles that reach their ears and gentle hands,
The sisters hang the different colored *****,
And behold a twinkling Christmas tree.

*The third poem that I wrote for my friend's three granddaughters

A small pond sits quiet in a meadow,
Circling it are three majestic willows.
The long green branches reach down
And the leaves brush the water’s surface,
Creating tiny ripples that grow and spread.
It is quiet here, in this meadow.
The breeze that lifts the
Willow branches is calm,
And the animals that occupy
The little corners are at peace.
Here, in this quiet meadow,
Stand three majestic willows,
Each one casting a reflection in the water.

*Another poem of three that I wrote for my friend's granddaughters

Down in the valley below,
There grow three cedar trees,
One on the right, one on the left,
And one in the center.
Their leaves are evergreen
And their trunks are strong and lean.
Their roots are deep
And their lives are long.
These cedars look up at the sky,
Day and night,
Watching the clouds and stars.
They breathe deeply and sing sweetly.
These three cedar trees,
These three earth sisters,
Keep on growing, reaching up towards the sky.

*One of three poems I wrote for my friend's granddaughters

Flip of the switch,
Let us gaze up into the night sky
And all the stars.
How many countless worlds are out there?
How many countless lovers are in those worlds?

We are all strangers to the thing of love.
Just as we will always be strangers to the thing that makes life.
Let us close our eyes, hold out our cupped hands under the rain,
And see what we catch.

The day that was before,
With a sky that was blue
And a sun that was hot,
Has changed to the day that is now,
With a sky that is grey
And an air that is damp.
The view from atop the high places is fogged.
There is nothing for the eye to take in
Except the thick mist and the shadows of black trees
That escapes the mouths of the choking clouds.
This sight may seem to many dreary and lonesome,
But really, it is beautiful.
The mist and the ghostly trees
Breathe mystery and secrecy,
You have only to whisper a secret and
The mist will keep it.
Rain has finally fallen on the land that was dry
Like the throat of hot summer.
Now everything is wet,
And all the trees’ dry throats relieved.

The liquid maiden that circled
The full amber moon
Let fall waves of song.

The golden bodied hawk
Flew in round about paths
Under the amber glow.

The white pony
That lay under a dry, cold touched tree,
With innocence and serenity painted in her eyes,
Took song and flying shadow into her dreams.

The sun had gone to shine on another corner of the world.
The sky was still blue, and it was still day,
But it was shady and breeze was quiet, yet absolute.
I undressed, slowly, and kicked the clothes in corner.
I settled down on my mattress, then pulled the duvet over my head.
I thought of the man I loved and what he was doing.
I thought of the things of yesterday and what they meant.
I thought… so many things.
Though, as the seconds slowly turned to minutes a many,
Thoughts dissolved like sand over fire.
As my eyes surrendered to sleep,
So the thoughts surrendered… to what?
I know not.
All I do know is that an hour later my eyes opened; I woke from my nap.
What was an hour seemed like a week.
I was hibernating in the concave of dreams.
What I dreamt I do not remember.
What was it that caused the outside world to seem so new?
What went on, in that concave of dreams?

Gold that falls,
Splashes of the sun,
Tear light-paths through thin air.

The last creature of the world,
Seeing the land through peaceful eyes,
Did the one thing it always wanted to do;
It swallowed the sun.

Human beings are we all,
Each of us sharing views, that differ and are similar, and
Hang suspended in the air
By pieces of thread called emotions.

We all hold to our minds
Thoughts of hate and sorrow,
Revenge and jealousy.
The mind is the chamber of negative secrets.

We all hold to our hearts
Feelings of love and joy,
Happiness and bliss.
The heart is the bed chamber of positive secrets.

The beating rhythmic heart in the center of our chest
Is the one thing that forever remains pure.
The thudding mass of brain that is our mind
Is what is susceptible to pollution.

If every human being follows their heart
And not what their mind thinks is correct,
No one in this world will be lost.

I lay my head in your lap.
You stroked my hair with a gentle hand,
And searched my face with your eyes
And lightened my heart with a smile.
That was the most perfect moment
In a long while.
My heart is yours,
I love you,
My heart is yours.
I wanted to say these things,
But I didn't.
The silence was what held that moment together.
My heart is yours
And I do love you.
You know this already.

It was night
There were no clouds in the sky,
Just stars in the black sea.
Noise spilled through the doors of the bar.
Outside the Brass Rail people with alcohol in their system
And the ***** in their lungs crowd the 49 highway.
In the middle of the road,
Where the white and yellow lines run parallel,
A wild smiling girl sets the triangle of bowling pins.
A ways down the highway line, a smiling man with blond dreadlocks
Swings his arms back and forth, ready to threw the ball.
The wild girl moves, the man throws his ball, the crowd cheers, trucks honk,
And the pins are hit!
Everyone jumps in the air, everyone claps and whistles,
And the game starts over again.
Bowling on highway 49 in North San Juan, California.
These wild free spirits are my friends.

The tea is steeping.
The fire is dancing.
Here I am sitting,
With a book in my hands.

Outside the wind is blowing,
Cold and dry
Like the breath of a night lizard of the desert.

The biting winds promise for rain,
But the shallow blue skies will not yield to the call
For liquid storms.
So here we all are,
In-between what seems summer and
What seems to resemble the autumn season.
The leaves all round are shifting to warm colors,
Yet much of the vegetation remains lush and green.

This season is one undecided and uncertain,
Like,
I now note,
Many of the realities occurring.
Change and uncertainty is tasted by so many at once,
Just like all of nature round us.
Undecided uncertainty.
What confusion and mystery is life?

That day at the river was the most beautiful.
There was a balance in the air that day;
everything was perfect.
We both smiled and laughed.
We fed each other forkfuls of lemon cheesecake.
We embraced and kissed.

Everything was vibrant that day and seemed to be glowing.
The water.
The rocks.
The trees and bushes.
The sky.
The few white clouds.

That day will always remain in my memory
As the most beautiful birthday I have ever had.

I am now sitting cross-legged on the grass,
And it starts to rain.
Slowly my dry hair is heavy with water
And my clothes are soaked through.
My cell-phone is in my pocket,
And I know that soon the water will reach it's center battery
And it will die.

This knowledge doesn't bother me, but even now,
I hope that the last of the tiny phone's electric breathe
Will let out a vibration, telling me I have received a message,
And I keep hoping it is from him.

....

Each time we conversed of an end
I was so quick to tell him that love was the strongest and not to worry.
I wasn't thinking of what was best for him, or me,
I was only thinking of what I wanted.

I hear many people say I am mature for my age.
I am mature in somethings.
But not everything.

....

Recently my mother told me,
"Sometimes we need a big shock to open our eyes, to help us move our feet forward."

I understand that now.

He always said he knew what would be best for me,
And whenever he did I would be get angry and tell him that no one knew.
I wouldn't listen to what he said.
I would fight it before all the words were formed,
Because I didn't want to let go.
I didn't want to wait for a future that might have us in it,
I wanted that future to be now.  

All the advise he gave me was for our own good.
By fighting and fighting it I brought an ugly end to our friendship.

This has been the biggest lesson of my life,
And though it is hard, this is how things go.
We make mistakes, many times repeat them, and then we have to face them.

I am looking into the window of my room,
Where on the sill there stands his painting.
I am the white and pink flower.
He is the golden and black bee.
He has wings, and he must use them to fly.
I have a stem, and for a little while longer I must grow taller.
One day I will break apart into little seedlings and the wind will carry me through the air,
And then, then is when I may fly beside him.

The complications of our relationship had reached their complicated peek
Giving way to an avalanche of confused thoughts and imaginary voices.
We both loved one another, and still do.  

The needle that tore my heart open
Became the needle that threaded it back together.
We both overcame the complications and confusion,
He and I.
Our hearts were whole again,
Beating like water-skin drums in unison,
Never going off tune.

I didn't write a poem of reunion or of the happy joy of being together again...
I don't know why.
Now I wish I had.
If I had, maybe this new seed of doubt that is sprouting wouldn't be.

I don't yet know if an end will come or if all will stay intact.
But I do know, that whichever way it goes,
He promised to take me to the river for my birthday.
And that makes me happy.

Like to the sun-tanned rocks was his skin;
Gold with a tiny shade of gray.
Like to the curling moss clinging to the trunks of oaks
Was his wise beard.
Here we see a spirit of the river.
This Free Spirit, as old and wise as the boulders
That shape curves in the waters,
And yet as young and fresh as the newborn dragonflies
That fly through the air and between trees.
Here we see a spirit,
One whose lips were shaped in a constant smile,
One whose lungs evoked constant laughter,
One who never ceased to love those around him,
Nor cease to love himself.
Here is a Free Spirit,
Now in the next world,
Playing paddle ball on the beach.
Here is a Free Spirit,
At peace and smiling.

*This poem is dedicated to my dear friend Daniel Free Spirit, who passed away last week. Though the river will never be the same without his playful self there, his spirit is in the water, the rocks, the sand, and the trees. I will always greet his spirit with a kiss to the wind. Rest in peace my friend.

Like rosemary twigs, and lavender leaves,
The loss that tore my heart open today,
Chews at my body and mind.
In my stomach I feel an aching from the emptiness therein.
Excitement is low, and I can’t hear the beating of my heart.
That ***** seems so quiet and careful,
That I wonder if it’s my heart keeping me alive
Or just some force of the universe or my will.
At times my mind seems like rice paper,
An empty sheet of white with no words written on to tell a story.
At others, my thoughts drift backwards in time,
Wishing that all the moments before would still be alive for later.

I always thought mouths were for kissing, smiling, and laughing.
Isn’t that a beautiful fiction?
But it is not a hundred miles close to the truth.
Yes, mouths do kiss, and smile, and evoke laughter,
But the movements of the lips are also quick,
Like the strike of a snake.
These mouths spread talk and venomous gossip,
One to another,
Like an apocalyptic plague that brings to all fever and vomiting.

Wouldn't the world be as perfect as an ivory-bell-flower?
If there was no heart break, gossip, or endings.  

Here I sit now,
Sitting on my knees with my hands resting on my legs,
And my back arched forward,
Like a monk in meditation.
The rosemary and lavender is growing all over me,
Transforming my body into a scented orb of green.

Living reality is difficult,
Fantasies are what keep you smiling.
In the chamber of my mind,
Forever seems absolutely possible.
But what is this holding onto forever?
Even though each moment with you I spend as if it’s the last,
And think of no other space or time,
Later on I say ‘I want to be with you forever.’
These words will only bring the end closer.
Not closer in a sense that the end will come faster,
Though this can also be true,
But when it does come it is the biggest blow to the heart
I have known.
The hypocrite part of me is showing now,
For even as I write this truth of love,  
I can’t let go of you…

The gush of water over rounded rocks
Elevate to echoes,
Echoes that echo in the space between
Tree and stone.
The sun rays are even and smooth
Wherever you turn.
Go round and round in a full circle,
It’s all even,
Except just before you return to where you started,
In that one split second and space of air.
The evened light from the sun
Will be molded differently here,
It will form tall slender shadows
That fall over the giant rocks.
In the shadows you can see
Two lovers, both ****,
Both having reached complete happiness.
Both their arms are around one another,
Holding the other’s shoulders and back like a conch.
The tops of their heads are crowned with
Fern circlets,
The green of which makes their skin look pale
And the hair on their head look light.
In this embrace, within the echoes between tree and stone,
These two lovers hold their ceremony,
One that belongs solely to them,
A secret from the world outside nature.
The sun rays bind them
And the echoes between tree and stone set them free.
Here they hold their ceremony,
With the fern crowns on their heads
And love within their beating hearts.

Leave me here,
By and by the misty oaks,
Those boast and cower through seasons.

Leave me here,
By and by the sun-touched,
Pebbled paths that led many pairs of feet.
For here my eyes do spy those
Ivory petaled bells of flowers.

Leave me here,
By and by,
Where I will pick these flowers,
And furnish my day with scented simplicity.

Lupine casts the shadows
Tattooed on the skins of
Twining lovers.
Their pale ******
Intensifies the purple and violet
Splashes dotted on the soft green rugs.
The two lovers roll
Atop and under,
Aside and over,
Their sweet sweat distracts the bees from
Their honey foray.
Bees buzz
Lovers sigh
Perfection in its abundance.

Jade masks are worn,
By those
Who think the irises of their eyes
Are measured in too few
And too many dark colors.
Months pass
Seasons dissolve
Decades whisper away
And all they remain to see,
In the reflecting mirrors
Surrounding them,
Are the irises that are
Measured in too few
And too many dark colors.
They ball their fists and
Smash the masks
That hide them from reality.
Those faces that were beautiful
And that were hid,
Are now cut and bleeding
And come out of hiding…
But not in peace nor with the
Acceptance of individuality.

The ivory syrup that in droplets form
And descend into an ocean of nectar sweet.
Who would think these two liquids,
Both so alike and so unique,
To be so potent and severe?
Like curious koi,
Syrup and nectar twin and dance,
Curl and breathe.
The salty sweat escaping the pores of our skin
Swim down my ******* and
Down your stomach,
Joining my treasure chest and your key,
And the syrup and nectar,
That are born and sewn.

The apple murex moon of this
Post-winter night, sewn with unseen stars,
Shines thin and parted beams
Between the cracks torn in the clouds
That slash through the skies like
Rice paper.
The night breezes uproot the
Vast wheat fields into a swaying
Back and sideways ballet.
Knees are bent into pliés
And stomach muscles are
Stretched in high reaching arcs.

The sun-dried wheat fields,
Ready for break-back harvest,
Bend in pliés and
Twirl in sideways spirals.
As straight and determined as a
Willow arrow,
A fire-bellied sparrow
Is lost under the tyrant waves
Of wheat and wind,
Under the slicing orchestra of
Grass-cut air.
She searches for a way out.
She does not realize that the
Sky that was once below is now above.
Both her black drowned eyes see nothing
But the violent movements of coffee colored shards.
Where is the familiar violet glow of the
Apple murex moon?
Where are the thousands of
Seen and unseen stars,
And the rice paper clouds?

The wheat and wind
Seem to curl inward
And trap her,
Away from the world she knew.
Just as her tiny sparrow heart
Began to curl inward into itself,
The air parted the wheat fields,
Freeing her.  

The delicate lungs that
Give the sparrow breath and song
Take in the refreshing air.
She stretches her fire-feathered wings
High and wide
And under the violet light,
The she sparrow
Flies upward
To kiss the apple murex moon.

I feel we connect, you know?
We like to observe things,
We like to create things,
You like painting,
I like building things.
I think we have a connection,
You know?

Pretty words.
In that moment they shone so bright,
As if they were covered in morning dew.
What a fool was I?
To fall for such sweet talk,
As I had done so many times before.
How long does it take to learn something?

I think I’m in love.
I thought then.
I think I was made a fool.
I know that now.
It hurt then,
It always does at first.

I’ve learned a lot since,
I’ve learned that thinking won’t get you anywhere,
Except in a nowhere void where darkness ***** your blood like mosquitoes.

Knowing is the best way to go,
The only way to go rather,
If you really do want to get anywhere.
With friendship least you know.
With friendship you don’t ever think
I think.
All you think is
I know.*

A beautiful feeling it is.

The ocean between our bodies
Is deep enough for crystalline echoes,
Though hollow as a sea-thinned lace murex.
Your eyes speak it,
Mine feel the same.
I will happily swim this ocean for you.

The forest was flush with light;
The dew upon every leaf and bush shined like emerald tears
Fallen from the rhinestone sky above.
Hues and blushes of reflection went vibrant without limit;
All the things our eyes beheld forced us to soon shut them,
Or else the ability of sight would be no more.
The songs of fire-bellied sparrows and yawning owls that hid in tree-hollows
Echoed through the tunnels of our ears,
Into our pumping brain,
And then were sent down our spines in reaction.
We slipped off our shoes
And our bare feet sunk deep into the wet mud and moss that still held the chill licks from night’s tongues.
The layered breezes through the branches
Tumbled over our pale skins and whispered into the hallow spaces of our ears.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Every swish of forest damp air drained the moist saliva off our tongues
And carried it away through the windows between trees,
Far, far away…
Far away so we would never find the words we wished to say.
The splendor of the sunshine through the emerald trees
Upon our bare arms and legs gave us new breath to live,
New eyes to see,
New tears to shed,
New nostrils to smell…
The secret tide of all natural things flowed here;
In this place
Where our feet were bare,
Where our eyes were shut,
Where the words we wished to say were taken far, far away,
Through the windows between trees.

The rain in the air falls like strained whispers.
The pebbled ground under my feet tingles from each single contact made
With every cloud’s tear-release.
The cold that chokes the outer world
Pushes us closer together,
As if we are two caterpillars,
Whom for the sake of warmth join
In one singular silk-thread cocoon.
I can feel a thousand invisible hands
Against my back, nudging me closer.
Your hands are holding my face;
They are so soft and sure,
These must be the hands of an angel.
Your angel’s palm on my skin
Spreads a blush over my face,
A blush that I alone feel
And the night’s dark alone sees.
Or can you feel the heat?
Space and seconds materialize away…away…
Now both our mouths taste one another's saliva.
Moister takes over the dryness that was, in that space before.
Between your angel’s palms,
Between your lips,
Between the cold that envelopes this cocoon of perfection,
I am a diamond tear that in the space of something never known,
Has no wish, no thought or desire.
I am a diamond tear,
Between your angel’s palms and lips.

Below the river’s mirrored surface
Sun-catchers collect the eyes of fish
And in reflecting rainbows
Cast shadows through the currents.  

The slippers of dimpled stones
Tip-toe down-river-bottom
The same direction that the
Weeds blow.

Naked bodies that gleam blushes
Connect with the hot rocks
And rippled movements,
Each one dives into the cold clutches of aqua
Each one leaps on the rocks to lie in the sun.

The black and blue dragonflies,
They boast their fast flight
In full circles and angled turns
And from their deep-set ebony eyes
Pierce the spaces under rocks and between leaves.

Grains of sand are thieved from the shores
By the fast fleeing waters that do not
Stay in one place long.
Those under the water
Those that listen
Hear the music that is so subtly drawn with each grain of sand
Hear the music in the reflecting sun-catchers
Hear the foot-falls of every dimpled stone
Hear the music in the movements of those naked bodies
And in the speedy flight of black and blue dragonflies.