you’ve swept me away
in your rivers,
completely.

do you know you steal my breath?
I can’t help it, I surrender
to you, so
surround me, encompass me,
cover me with your skin,
your flesh and kisses;

love me, I know you can.
love me,

for just a while, and
I’ll lead you,
follow you,

until you find
what you are looking for.

I am yours to break.

and if you ever want
to forget me for a while,
to love me no longer -
that is okay,

for you've loved me once,

and that is enough.

The men smile - who knew?
They cannot taste the summer,
They paint their nails blue.

the moon was just over
half full, and he watched it
as it floated above,
suspended in place while the earth
moved with each of his steps.
The trees surged and fell
with his feet, but the moon
was unmoving.
Yellow and unmoving.
He stared at it until he was sure
the image had etched itself
into his pupils, a yellow fleck -
not quite a circle;
a curious fleck of light
at which people would stare
and ask about,
and he’d reply,
It is the moon! It is the moon!
He wanted to be yellow
and unmoving.
Yellow and unmoving;
It is the moon!
He’d stolen the moon.

ancient man, ancient man
what do you hold
in your sleeves?

in your sleeves
you are young,

you are youthful,
not a bird in search
of a final rest-,
nest-ing place.

your place is not
in the sun
in the sky
in the sidewalk.

in the warm embrace.

my bird, my bird,
ancient man,
you are my bird;
tell me,
what do you hold
in your feathered sleeves?