The concave curvature
Of her crescent cheeks carried
Me back to the beginning
Of time, to the ground where
Love laid the very first pieces
Of her infinite foundation
To where the rock met the sea
At the distant shorelines of desire
Where the mighty waves of passion
Crash on the bedrock of solidarity

I, the small being, coupled with you,
Tapped into the endless well, throwing
Ourselves into eternity. The sky stretches
And is covered with the burning stars
Whose distant screams are the sonata
Of the oscillating sound waves of
The song we both share. You and I-
I was your ocean and you were my
Moon. Though your brilliant reflection
Undulated on the face of my violent waves
We could not touch, separated by light
Years through which time stretches and
Retracts and ultimately sums to zero

And yet here you are, my gentle breath
Is the soft wind in your valley, gently
Bending the stems of the magnificent flowers
That abound in your lush fields. Your vines
Wrap around my trunk as my heart pants
For you like the fawn after the cool brook
And is filled with the cool refreshment
That fills my veins. Your rivers flow into my
Seas and my seas empty into your streams
And we find ourselves here, in this cycle,
Realizing that the separation would
Be the sudden death of the both of us.

"Red Tailed Hawk"
Written in 2009 - 16 years of age

He sits on his perch
Nothing can touch him
Nothing can hurt him
Eyes like daggers
Eyes as cold as ice
Talons sharp like fire
Swift, keen, he waits

The parent blackbird
Shrieking in despair
Dives in again and again at him
Unscathed, he sits, waits, and watches
Without warning, he faints
Falling onto his prey
Talons and beak
Tearing into flesh
Stripping away the life

As I stood next to him
We talked about things
Gazing out into the lake
We were like lifelong friends
I asked him, "why are you fearless?"
The reply came from within his eyes
It was his domain, his territory, his life
A reply in simplest of terms
For the hawk, nothing is complex
After you have stripped away the flesh

Rewrite - Present Day. 20 years of age.

The sharp eyes pierce the veil of the day
Sitting on his perch, he silently waits
The singing trees grow quiet at his presence

The target in sight- the nest cradled
In the boughs of naked limbs is the victim
Of his narrowed gaze; silence is deafening

Unsheathed talons slice the air, death
In their grasp as the screams of the
Victims erupt from the noiseless space

Diving to and fro, the mother's desperate
Attempts to salvage the lives are useless in
The winged fury of the red-brown beast

The dagger-like beak tears away the
Life from the little ones. Feathers float
Gently to the ground- the silence returns

The fearlessness resonates in the air
Between the great beast and I. Earth,
Air, Trees. The great domain of the hawk

I walked to where the bones lay and
Find little chalk outlines. The flesh is gone.
Remaining only the simplest form of things.

And what have we left when our flesh has
Been devoured and dried up? The structures of
Our forms, the purest and most exemplary.

God bless this silent space
It's inside of these crevices I pace
Little drops of blood around
The pools inside your heart abound
I'm swimming through the cavern
Drinking up the love I earn
Perhaps in the right ventricle
I'll find the right strings to pull.

What is it about these tired, melancholy streets
That has you all hidden in your little houses?

My feet tread one over another and yet the only
Sound is the echo of my footsteps. Where are the other bodies?

I see no lovers holding tightly, hands in hands and arms
Intertwined as if the cold wind could pull them apart.

I saw you peek from the beat up little house, I was
Enjoying a conversation with your father. Loud laughs resonate.

I saw you peering through the trails of cigarette smoke and
Tattered blankets which keep you hidden in the shack.

Those blankets, much like when I saw you. Tattered and
Not so sightly. Worn by age and smoke. Sickly and stained.

Alas, my dog runs up the field and there is not a soul in sight;
The osprey have left their perch on the cellular tower.

Where are your huddled little bodies, little town?
The winter has not reached its age to have created anxiety.

The anxiety that forces them from their homes
In an earnest search for the sun's warm rays.

Cinema, you have it all wrong!
Insanity is not the man who
Shouts at people in the streets nor
The man who digs the imaginary
Bugs out from under his skin.
That is the abuse of drugs-
The effects of long term deprivation
Of reality. No, this is not insanity-
Merely flashy, fabricated shock.

Insanity is subtle. The slight smile when
A frown should be worn. The uncontrollable
Giggles that occur when you watch the
Stoplight turn from red to green.
The patterns, the visions of things that
Are inexplicable, unable to be described with
Language. No, no drugs here, these things
Are my mind's free form madness. A creation
Wrought from the deep trenches in my mind's
Winding alleyways. You have it all wrong.

There we stood, my dog and I
The wide open expanse of the winter
Field beneath our feet. The vapor of our
Breaths mix as we charge through the
Snow, side by side. I see the earnest expectation
That shines in his eyes. A bond is formed.

A sudden stop, ears perked, there exists only
The dead silence of the space between us and
The woodland trees in the distance. The thin
Border between our world and the wilderness.
We **** our head towards the sound from the
Trees- the distant yip of coyotes. A tension grows.

I see the silhouettes, they silently glide across the
Dark horizon of the forest. The taunting yips call
Out to us. The hair stands up on his back, on my neck.
Blood in my ears, the taste of iron at my teeth. We
Crouch and stalk, a snarl forms in his toothed mouth.
The opponents stand, sizing up. Yellow eyes lock.

My veins pulsate with blood, our hearts pump as one.
The dog looks back, his eyes begging for the command.
Pleading for the shedding of blood as the animosity fills
My eyes with blackened darkness, hearkening to the days
Of spears and stones. My fists clenched and a snarl forms
Around my lips and my teeth. The space shrinks.

I can taste the blood, I can hear the wounded screams of
Our opponents as they fall at our feet. Tearing of flesh
And breaking of bone as his teeth rip skin and my hands
Crush necks. And yet a sudden moment of clarity visits,
And I grab the collar despite the desperate cry. A retreat is made.

Caught up in the appearance of it,
The inner movement means nothing.

It does not matter the bending of the tree,
Only the color of its autumn leaves.

The glow, the sparkle, the flash, the color only,
The darkness within, the silent movement is nothing.

Pretty to the eye, soft to the touch,
These tactile stimuli are sought after.

Astounded by the beauty on the outside
Terrified of what lies beneath. The unknown.

The summer sun is so beautiful,
What then of the snow? The dark clouds?

Is not every silent movement of nature,
Beautiful in its own form and nature?

The appearance, my friend. Pluck and pull,
Tighten and pin. Paint your face on.

What lies beneath? But the echo and rustle,
Of the dead, sullen, dried husks. Dead souls.