God. is She real?
if She is, then what of it?
frankly i do not know
who i am talking to it
but i hear that God is a myriad
of things, yet at the same time
She is not really anything
frankly i do not know ****
only that there must be a
God, a God for peace, a God
for the weary, a God for the lost,
a God for the old, a God
for the young, and a God
for all the opposites, the disparities
and similarities

maybe She can see me
writing this poem, curious and wandering
into territory both familiar
and unknown. maybe She
knows me
more than i know myself, or
maybe She wants me to
know her like i want to know myself.
maybe God is a He, or a They
or none of the above. i just know
i find comfort
in the warmth of the same ***
but also
maybe God is
what's beyond warmth and ***

but perhaps God has a warmth
that is entirely just Theirs
and They are waiting
for me to discover it
perhaps God has a world
that is not far from home
and He is waiting
for me to uncover it

like a dream resurfacing
from the layers of my memory
you come back to me
bathed in glory
your eyes telling a thousand stories

your wings
once they were broken
today they have unfurled
silky to the touch, it is almost sudden
how they glimmer without being risen

your majesty
it takes the air out of my lungs
i almost collapse into nothing
but soon find myself in your wings, tucked
the stars in your eyes, songs to be sung

the world cowers
as it does not deserve you
nor can it ever repay what you have given
us mortal humans, we wish to reach you
but we fail to see the things that make you

it’s a dream, too good to be true; i comb her hair with my fingers
i bid my eyes to stay shut and in my ear i hear nothing but her whispers
confused but content, i sigh into her bare shoulder
and find myself carried away into the deepest kind of slumber

she is here—my love—and her love borders on tangible
the dips and bumps of her body under my fingers: palpable
she pushes but she doesn’t shove, she pulls but she isn’t careless
yet her gaze and her words, they are everything but selfless

i count the stars til i run out, then i trace with a finger the freckles on her face
in her sleep—not mine, i checked—she is nothing but softness and grace
her heartbeat against mine might be too good to be true
but this is not a dream and my reality is, "you"

he moves, like a dream
—memories that resurface from murky depths,
scenes cut out from rolls of film, flickering.

he moves, like a song
—glittering stars that descend from the heavens,
the sound of water hitting the rocks, never-ending.

he moves, like a wish
—prayers from you to me, from me to you, from us to God,
deep and shallow breaths in the interstice of smiles, promising.

he moves, like a warrior
—ink that never runs out til its story has been told,
cries that can be heard from deep inside, reverberating.

he moves, and he moves
—and he stops,
chilling.

he moves.

i
had dreams

i have you, in my dreams
i spin around and there you go
behind my eyelids, a featherlike reverie
a secret open to the world

the softness of your lips
the dauntless glint in your eyes
the fire that roars from down your throat
me, a witness to these, and yet

i know nothing but glimpses
vast glimpses, but still
the purr in your voice, a lullaby
my dwindling thoughts, “good night”

i’ll never know
you’ll never know
here with me, a pillow to soften the blow
around me, a blanket to call home

moonlight, a sliver of comfort
in this world before slumber
you are there, i am here
these thoughts shall never meet you

tonight, my dreams will give me
you

tattoo this on my body,
make the litany permanent:
i am sad today, and i am depressed. to get out of bed is a chore. i can't do what is asked of me, despite the voices that cheer me on.

scrub this off my body,
until my skin is a sensitive red:
i am depressed today, and i am sad. the rain was too heavy and some of it fell into my head. there is an ocean inside of me whose waves never stop roaring. the noise is unbearable.

paint this on my body,
a canvas of life:
i am alive today, and i am living. and the sun still shines and my heart still beats. a world of pain meets a world of color, and i realize the red in war can also mean the red in love.

imprint this on my body,
a reminder that says:
i can always depend on poetry
to make sense out of what can't.