Our humanity does not lie in our goodness,
but rather it exists within our flaws,
for it's our flaws that make us interesting,
and it was because of this that I found
my aunt to be the most interesting person in the world;
for she was flawed in the most exquisite ways.

She was nothing short of a legend in my family.
Her deeds were not spoken of in day-light,
but whispered about late evenings
amidst closely clustered kitchen tables.

I remember hearing lurid tales:
she's been married twenty times -
she's been arrested before -
she's knocked out a boy's front teeth.

I never knew if these tales were true or not,
and I hope to never find out either.

I'll believe them; I'll believe in HER -
as she believed in me before:
as she believed in love and excess.
We talked shortly before her death,
What good is a life without regrets?

In Florida sometimes it rains so hard
that you believe that it can't possibly stop,
that it will just rain and rain forever.

Sometimes I'd wake to a storm late at night,
and I'd sit out on the porch.

You could smell the lightning, and the coolness of the storm would
make your hair stand;
I'd feel so alive.

Some nights I'd go out, and my father
would be sitting on the porch already.
Lost in the storm
or maybe
called to it.
We wouldn't talk,
but we'd be lost together
in the rain and thunder.

Sometimes I wonder what of him
is left in me.
I am not sure
if I am more afraid of there being
very little
or of there being a great deal,
but when it rains
I think about him on that porch;

loneliness has defined
this old soul.
Bittersweet melody
has tuned my way of
living.

I don't know how much
my heart could stand
the weight and wait
for that simple moment,
that single spark
to feel alive
and stop breathing
the ashen smog of reality.

The angels that you can and cannot see
float in and out of life so gracefully;
enfold in winged embraces one by one,
celestial comforters when day is done.
Some angels take the shapes of passers-by
so you might see the Spirit in their eyes.
A smile that lifts the day from the mundane;
a kind hand up, a loving act conveyed.
The unseen angels hover in the realm
where power manifested overwhelms
our common senses. There behind the scenes
they battle fears and reinforce our dreams.
Take counsel from a humbled man, once proud;
they only enter lives when they're allowed.

you tree limb bent out from the others,
you collapsing of the chest as everyone laughs,
you mid-july broken ceiling fan

you beautiful, stand out empty picture frame -
where a family should be.

that earthquake mother,
that tectonic plate father,
you poor, caught-in-the-debris, scar on the head survivor

you valley of flowers,
those volcanic eruption grandparents,
you forgotten beauty

you ash risen lover,
you missing puzzle piece,
you faded photograph

you home,
you paradise,
you safe haven

you backseat confession,
you laying on the tile floor sleep,
you moonlit slow dance

you tender, divine lover,
you unbroken hope

She is an atlas
her eyes deepest
and darkest Africa

Unfolded I hold her
tracing the source
of her diamonds and gold

In search of the motherload.

I know it's hard to touch the clouds
when memories
hold you down
I know you cry a lot inside
when no one is
around
I know it is hard to wake up
sometimes
when breathing cuts so deep.

and the birds, they sing
but
you cannot hear
and the sun, it shines
but
you cannot see
and there's a lot of warmth around
but
you cannot feel.

I know it feels so hard
to live
with so many scars

but

light will shine and you will
see
and birds will sing and
you will hear

It's just a dark path
you have to walk
and I will be there
to walk along
don't hold your breath
don't give up yet
just
keep your hope
and you'll find one day
that you can fly again
for you deserve
the highest clouds
the purest air
the deepest love.

and I'll be here for you,
you, dear soul,
the sweetest lyric
of them all.

freedom can be bare feet
or naked
or laughter
freedom can be poetry