You came from clear air
  Pure sky
  Of our being
  Wellspring of desire
  Your fierce intelligence pressing on me
  There are not enough minutes to the day
  Show Yourself
  Your lips
  From which issue
  The flaming tongues
  Of my poem

Aer glan

As aer glan a tháinís
As spéir íon
Ár mbeatha
As tobar ár ndúile
D’éirim á brú orm go fíochmhar
Níl dóthain nóimintí sa lá
Nocht Tú féin
Do bheola
As a séideann
Teangacha lasracha
Mo dháin

No single thing in
existence scares me more than
living a cliché.

I rolled you up
Your insight, your beauty
And all the love you had to offer me
I threaded you with American Spirit
And tucked you in an origami wrap

From grass and earth...
To clouds
One hit
And the world went silent

If I was a mountain

That soared towards the sky,

With craggy snow caps

And stormy grey eyes-



Then you'd be the clouds

That swaddled my peak,

That silenced my thunder

When I tried to speak.



If I was the earth

The desert, in fact:

With arid dry soil

And mud, baked and cracked-



You'd be the rain

The downpour that soothed;

The balm to my bruises,

Relief to my wounds.



If I was the Moon

In the indigo night,

With stars as my blanket

And silver; my light-



Well you'd be the Sun

Just always behind

That lent me your glow

And caused me to shine.