“You are sacred to Me,”
speaks a steep disembodied voice,
lifted by the lowly, rescued by the reed,
quenched by the eagle.
She has been delivered to the underworld
from sliding scree, into silence
from the long sigh of a still black flag
Hung for her Eros.
The one raised by no one,
Pounded into poet,
Scorched by doubt
and blessed with scars.
The doubting beloved is dancing
Despairing, the impossible possible.
Her solemn spin stirs open the rose petals
Far away in a waiting redolent garden
That is thirsting a tear from Proserpina,
wept for the company of a nightingale.
The beloved arrives with blood red wine.
“You are the sacred of the sacred
for your heart has eyes
I’ve no wings of fire, nor beast I be.
See my unseen heart
and I'll return to Thee.”

Rolling in wave upon wave of words.
Sentences dressed right, en echelon, like pretty hued soldiers
with armor and frills of meaning unfurled.
I can see their smiles gleam
with the slap-dash of their waving standards.

The gypsy, unzips her paragraph
like the Red Sea before Moses;
she has rewritten the song of the seducing hand
that writes the words, that pens the curve of a gentle wrist,
that drains of the belletristic wells of the heart.

All to flow from Egypt through the canyon of the mind,
Weathered words, crumbled from the cave of allegory
Sliced from the loaf of pharaohs love.
Flow on river, flow by
leaving green brush in the crags where eagles nest.

Friend of ******, swelled by spells of copulation
Hers is the scent that draws the sleeping bear
From carnal dreams, dripping blood-words.
Bleed for waxing moon, bleed the scent of still stars,
oh do I love this vicious bearer of words in sun struck birth.

Die dear gypsy on the battlefield of parchment
Expel the reek of your pen impaled body
Rise hoary hope on the wind inhaled by God.
He who draws her up, heart first
Through those once read lips, but forever colored…

Red, red! For they are still read by my heart
Hewn homonym from the hue of her lips kiss
There is a silent word mouthed in this nymphs holler.
And I press my ear closer to that womb.
To read, to read… listen please, my erudite heart.

A cove, one’s own
For hearts, a home
where sky and sea and
cliff sides crawling with posies
meet in places
built from traces
of reassembled memories.
all is quiet, all is tender,
purling waters to remember
sips to come, from cups, were poured
by ocean waves en echelon
by providence and then beyond
by each embrace of pristine shore.
reminding us,
o’ forgotten trust
in things from hinterlands
curves of thought imbued with love
raked into hidden sands
washed away, washed away
by the Beloveds hands.

Across the surface, drag the hand
Knotted wood and obsidian.

Splinters sliver, skin sliced through,
The surface bleeds an ocean blue.

Stroke the metal torn and rusted,
pitted rock, lichen crusted.

Press the door oh sojourner,
press the surface ever more.

Slide your fingers along the crypts,
a three thousand year old obelisk.

Reach through water, place a kiss;
The face of God calls pious lips.

Press the door, it’s hinges hold
behind the surface, secrets told.

She mounted the breeze
And shook the trees
Bringing our love to its knees.
“I’m not jaded,
Please look at me,
Look deeply and say goodbye,”
She rustles the rust from the waving limbs,
“…Here’s your beloved azurite sky.”
It’s raining saffron and crimson leaves
As Autumn throws on her coat
She’s gone again,
And all I have
Are the tears she left on this note.

Softly I’ll land
wherever you land,
slide over the lee of your wake
I’ll drift on your breath
and fly on stirred winds
to wherever your wings will take
I’ll break my fast
with steel cut oats
and sip the steam of splendid tea
and dip my bread
in the yolk of love
and you’ll adore the dawn
with me.

Memories fade to susurrus.
Dusk cast shadows rise the temple wall.
Amber skin, maternal fields,
Upon soft abdomen, his ear falls.

Below the peel of empyrean,
fruit of a woman,
brave the man who clings the rind,
But braver he let’s go in time.

Saccharine, she whose taste is closest
to touch the Beloved’s face.
Pressed he hears her oceans howl…
hurling hope upon the waves.

To love a woman thus
is to be born to her
and then to die,
over and then again over.

Upon his brow, lips land
Her Autumn eyelids close,
falling, falling in the garden.
go the petals of the rose.