The mother slips into a drunken haze
as her daughter’s heart is hardened still.
She wishes for the former days,
before rejection claimed, “I never will.”

He tried his best to care for her
but to her he was but a splotch
or a stain on her sundress, unconcerned.
Picked flowers nearby, on his lips, “Forget me not.”

It is everywhere

Like time kissing the stream of my life
or the wedding night of a husband and wife
Like splitting one hair
or ruining my heart to get there.
Rejection is surrounding me. Everywhere.

Yet even closer somehow
is the warmth of an embrace, 
a protection from rejection. I feel it now.
I feel it in this secret space.

I write poetry

to have
a conversation with myself
and with God
and you

to log
everything I see
and think
and feel

to expose
the lessons I was forced to teach myself
the prayers I learned for you
the wisdom you learned for me

to give
and less so to take
and therefore not to make
something of or for myself

only inevitability can be birthed--
with all the cries and wails
that arrive in sync with newness and life--
as I traverse the capacious cavern

inside and realize
to have it is
to log it is
to expose it is

To give.

The fences are on fire
Can’t you feel it?
The bonfire in your nostrils
Time standing by your side,
Whispering “quickly, love” and,
In the distance, lips part and quake
They—you—(what difference will it make?)
Tremble like a lake of sulfur,
A lake of liquified lavender
But darker—wine, yes, wine in its cellar
Can’t you feel it?
The ashes pasting themselves over the moon
The midnight sun, the falling stars at noon
Time grabs your hand this time,
“No more waiting, my love” or maybe
It was “No more hating, my love”
You clench your free hand
You bite your lip
You drench you drench you drench
Your body in acid in courage in rage
Can’t you feel it?

The fences are on fire
And love’s coming for you