Lines inside of trees
around my eyes
at my finger tips
around you as you dance in

candlelight

and lines of wax in veins of wood
and lines, lines of unread scripts
in lines of books in my book case.

Lines,
lines I told myself.
Lines I tricked myself into believing.
Lines I tricked you into thinking too.

I've been trying to find
1,000 ways
or reasons
or pieces of sun rays to
blast away my storms
- or even 100 things,
   or 10,

I'm not picky, but I'm fading fast

and I need to find

something,
anything
to
   live for.

So I'm
sad that
I can't
conquer
love
and to
think
a year
ago
I didn't
know that
love existed
or that I
could feel it
in my soul
like so

and the sun
sets in its
orange descent
but I see
the world in
mono-color
where I
stumble
as I'm
falling
(I'm falling)
apart

So in hope
of defeating
love, I'll sit
beside my-
self
in the
corner of
my room
and cut
1,000
paper hearts.

10 years and
I love you

10 years and
I'm waiting for your
call

10 years and
I'm haunted by an
evening in the valley

where I'm running in a
field and the dark begins to fall

10 years and
it's you, I can't
deny it

10 years
& your kiss still
tastes the same

10 years comes and goes so fast

10 years yours
I will remain

Count down from 11,
and I'm leaving the
region

I'm heading East
like I'm searching for
freedom

away from the forests
away from the rain
away from the constant
coverage of grey

Count down from 11,
and I'm going with
you

I'm heading East
I'm hoping for something
new

Nearer to deserts
& nearer to heaven
from this moment on it's
countdown from eleven.

the winter's when
you took your
leave
and I felt
like I couldn't breathe

though you're the one
in oxygen,
fifteen liters of
oxygen
the tiny ball
dancing with
the stream

there's no cure
and you are dying,
and in the lobby,
so am I,

and all
the leaves have fallen
while I don't sleep at night

December fills my heart with joy,
but also makes me cry.

It's 1991, community-based drug treatments
are on the rise. People, on the mend, bending over each other to fix addiction

It's 1991, my mother is holding her
low belly, watching TV in the basement
Shared housing, bending over her arm, grip,
friction

It's 1991, have you heard of social feminism? Have you heard how
they do it in Sweden?
Inequality.
Household labor.
This is America. It's a "man's world"
Hold her belly, water, it's a girl.

It's 1991, rise economy,
rise homelessness,
rise, her chest
her ribs
her lungs
her body
expand,
rise, push,
rise, fall, rise, fall
pushing
household labor.

There are only
26 letters
to rearrange in
ways that explain
what I'm feeling

There aren't enough
lines, dashes, dots on a
page to tell you
that I love you
and I'm
yours

I know that you don't
want me,
says your 26 letters,
and I know that you're
afraid
and I know the way I
put 26
together
can be completely
overwhelming,

but darling,
26 or 7,
3 or 100-
letters are
irrelevant to the
words I want to
say to you
and can't quite
put together

There are only 26 letters
who can't convey
what I'm feeling.

After all of the hard
feelings
and after the summer of
fires.
After the forests had fallen
apart
and after I forgot
desire

After the winter in
whiskey
and after the stars
hid from dawn
after 3 years ago when you
died
I think I have finally
moved
    on.

I dug through
shelves
and rows
of tapes

cassette tapes
that made
me think
of you
and of myself
and of summer in
the ballet
studio
dancing
until
I
  could
not
  breathe

5 for 99 cents
where I can
take a moment
take a breath
take some time
while they
rewind

everything
changes
and nobody takes any
time
in an instant
tapes are gone

just like
the
day
you died.

There's a cup of
coffee in the cup I got
when I lived in
France, turning cold,
sitting
on a book I'm using
as a coaster, called
"Goblin Market"

and the vinyl that
I found for 50 cents
is turning slowly in
my Craigslist turntable,
76 trombones
76 trombones

and I'm trying to make
my way through
"Tuesdays with Morrie,"
because Mitch Albom
makes me cry
and now
I'm thinking only
of heartbreak,
rejection,
un-
requited
love and of
the day, the weeks, the months
my grandma
died.

There's so much to be
happy for
sad for
teeter totter for

I love this life and
I feel so much pain.

Look at you.

I've finally found
something living
in the waters-
a brush against
my leg and
I know that
you're
unfolding and
I'm here

standing in the
water,
a lukewarm way of
holding
me
in the touch of
a
November.

Look at you,
darling

there's so much
beauty
in the depths
you've opened
up to me
and I'm here:

I'm not scared
of who
you are,
my world wonder,
my 8th sea.

On night's like this
when the air is warm
and heavy
and its humid shades
of green caress
my skin
the empty, shallow
pit of my stomach is
longing
and aching for a
sleepless night of
sin
and the orange glow from
my lamp is
overwhelming
while the blue
tv light fades into
the dark
and I imagine your touch
glazed over my body
where in this moment
I am not falling
apart.

I'm aware of the things that come from the woods.

The brooding water paths pushing to the west.
A quiet sprinkling of pine
  needles and
flooding near the
Ash Groves when the winters come

the winter's spent.

Cities are strangers and pavement is trapped soil
waiting for my hands to dig them up and build a
refuge out of dying-to-get-out-of-here-dirt

I'm dying to get out of here dirt.

I left myself in the absent way
a butterfly leaves the cocoon but do not know of what

I'm seek
  ing .

It's raining in
a mist tonight
just like you
said it would

and I am chilled
to my bones

and in every swirling
blend of deep violet
the deepest shade
of a night
violet
I fall into
abyss.

When I think
of how
scared you
were, and
how you held
your stomach
tightly

and how the grass had been so dry
this summer
and the people,
so sick

of you
hunched over your
bed,
a tissue
in hand,
a heartbroken
plea to God.

I want to be
everywhere you are
and I want you
to know
that the world hasn't
turned it's back
on you.
That I'm afraid too
and that nobody
blames you,

Oh, Adonide,
nobody blames you.

The week you
died
I ate a
package
of bear claws
of gooey,
cinnamon
almond
pastries

and you couldn't breathe
and you couldn't speak
and you couldn't see me
eating alone
in the dark

Dying isn't romantic
no wings
no music
no angels and
feeling of peace

it's sitting alone
in the dark
your back sweating
eating a dozen donuts.

So in moments of cello
and measures of
rendezvous,
Dvorak concertos &
adagios too...
in moments of breath
when reading the lines,

it's your hands holding
a set of strings,
and afterwards, then
mine

There's a thought
I have
(quite often)
where I'm
standing on
Agate Beach
and your feet are in
the waves

and you're telling
tales of the under-toe
where the ripples
entice like
ribbons
and the steady beat
of here-and-back
tempts you with
its song

The one
where you've collected
seashells
crab shells
every shell
you've seen.

I usually think this
when I'm on the bus
and my throat is dry
and the cigarette smoke
stinks like the bitter days,

the post-shore days
the after the golden coast line days

where cigarettes were cheaper
than a divorce
or goodbye.

I saw a kettle of
hawks winging circles
in the sky

my eyes squinting
because the sun
is so intense
[after an overcast rain]

I haven't seen the sun since God knows when.
and
I haven't seen a hawk since I was home, again.

I saw three brown hawks
flying circles
in the sky

over hazy mountains,
blue, cold, hazy mountains
on the corridor of
I-5

and I took a breath with the
windows down
and shout out
my loudest sound,
face in the wind,
hair flying back
like a wing on the wind

and I remembered
Summer in the valley
with you and a
dandelion, barely brushed
by the breeze
and you

and the sound of a cow
no different than
the sound of your breath
no different than
the sound of your heart as
I leaned against you.

I never knew I loved
a kettle of hawks,
so,
in the sky.

I was wrong
in thinking love
does not exist
and falls apart
before it ever
lasts

I see you
everyday  
(my longing is in agony)
and your passion is
overflowing even when
we do not speak

The trumpets
sound on
without your
touch
without your
voice and mine
duets bouncing
back and
forth
in harmony
and time.

Orchestras
play
without your kiss,
stringing lover's
song
a sea of bows,
and heaven knows
you've been mine
all along.

Everything
is Champagne
glitter
sparkled stars
weightless in their
rapture,
floating ,
(London to Beijing)

on hand
the world is
red-hot
white-hot
fire that is
burning hot
My love,

you're
all
of
everything.

I can see the city
lights out
my window

after painting
cityscapes of
Spain
with that
little set of
watercolors I bought
in that small town
(by the lake)
so much like home
(a trinket in my hands)

each light is like
a poem to me
a song
or laugh
(contained)

if I could contain your laugh
and ship it back to me
away from arid cities
and the red sun
in the sky
I think
it would
look like all the
lights out my window
each night here in Madrid

and as I would lie
to fall asleep
and look at the orange glow
the moon
sitting in the dark blue
sky
I think of all the lights
that can't go out
when I look into your eyes.

Oh my God
It's happening.
Just like they said it would.
I have passion and
I swear
I could grow
a peach
with only my hands
and toss it into
the purple sky
and watch the
stars fall
and the
trees
blossom
into color and
pictures to paint

a deer that lingers by the water

and runs
in a moment
with a peach in the air.

My God.
How leaves
can fall
and never
make a
sound,
a peach can
fall and
only give me
something to
smile about,
(all while a deer runs)
a purple bruise to kiss.
Oh God,
I hope this lasts.

You told me,
with your amber
lips and breathy
words that speak like
resin falling from a
tree, honey in
the mouth
of a
   bee-

with your tongue
afraid to
break the seal that
you've made to
cradle and nurse
your thoughts, your
language

You told me,
lying on my bed,
your head on my shoulder,
up too late for an
alarm-clock morning, your
eyes closed.

You told me that
all you want is to be
full of passion
and to know how to talk about
Fine Art with
me.

I'm not sure when
I fell asleep,
but suddenly
I had fallen
into night's
embrace

Can you hear me?
can you hear me in
the blue of slumber
where I'm not even
aware
I'm
reaching out for
you

I want to know
you love me
just like I
want to know
the moment where
my mind
succumbs
to quiet and
lets my tired
body sleep

I need you so much
I almost
cannot
sleep.

There's something stirring
inside me
billowing with every
breath I take,
every star-eyed
breath I take,
that's why
I'm so alone

I never meant to let you down
or push you into somewhere
where I know you can't
escape

and now I watch your
downfall
and I feel my own
fall
too
and I'm broken underneath your love
and I feel like I need you

and I know that it's not healthy
and I'm soaked in your cologne
I'd rather give you
all of me
than feel like
I'm alone.

The last twenty four
years were beyond wonderful
the next will be too.

Just the thought of you
and words
do not prevail
like they do
like they
usually do

where I'm burning to the top
with passion
desire
tension building
releasing,
insatiably reaching
for
you

What is it within
your soul
that touches me
so

where I am
flooded by the
cadence of
your haunting
amber glow

and every book I've
read
poem I've read
and sentence in me
struggles to
find a way to tell you
that
I'm in utter awe
of you.

You probably don't
want
to
see
me
on the
way up

but I have to say I'm
sorry
for
holding your ankle
for so long.

After everything.

After the embers finally
cooled.
And I left the rain that caused
the chill.

After I felt the touch of
rage
and the hand of anger
try to

finish me

after I heard the breath of
   dying

and I heard the song of
  hope -

after I felt the tug of
rejection on my
sleeve

and the toxic
black and white dream of days

it's
the bitter taste
of nightfall here.

The sinking pause of abandonment.

The hesitant blossom of
springtime.

I hope that I can
find
peace
with the
blisters that
you left me with.

I broke an egg and
blood fell out
into the pan.
You told me it
was a bad omen
that someone
close to me
would die.
and you touched
my bare hip
and for a moment
I felt fat
even though the
doctor says I'm
losing weight
again, 5 lbs
in 3 weeks,
again.
and I know about the
blood pool in the pan.

I keep feeling like
I'll find a book
with prompts
and pages that will
change my life
but every time it's blank
I see myself inside

This year I asked
the heavens or
whatever you believe
for a year to
answer questions
a year to give me
insight and make me
a "deeper" me

This year I was ill
and then she died
and then I had to leave
the countryside
I had planned to live in
for so long

And when I came back
to my little town
an old friend came to me:

"You have changed. You seem so wise."

The universe answered my hope
with demise.

I want to be
strong.
Like those ants
that carry
10 times the weight.
those ants i see
in my kitchen
Climbing up the
cabinets
into the walls,
the itch you feel
with
an ant on your hand.
I do not touch you
          that
      strongly.

In my past
life
I was a painting
an oil
dripping off the
palette knife
of some
one who believed
in love and
the beauty of
a butterfly
who can't sit still
for anything, but
flowers.

I can't deny every thought though
   for every vision is given through the things I have liven.
  And every petal's not a petal without
  you inside and every thought has no meaning
'Cause only you are in my mind.
  I can't touch your heart anymore than you touch me now
  For every breath isn't breathing, when my heart isn't beating in you.
  I can't explain every song sang
  For every melody is holding me, your memory hurts like hell in me
  And every star isn't a star without your love
  And my heart has no healing when push comes to shove.
  I can't kiss your soul anymore than you kiss me now,
  For every smile isn't smiling, when my soul remains dying for you.
  You can't regret the way we were
  For everything is a blur when you're smiling at her,
  And every tree's not a tree, when you've forgotten my heart
  As either a tree or a heart, it can still fall apart.
  You won't talk to me anymore than I don't look at you
  So it be that every planet stops spinning
  The end the beginning
  The won can't be winning
  When I am not living with you.

It's been a year
and I could still
bathe in champagne

lie in the dark
cavern of your heart

and let the bubbles
run over me

the moon,
the sun,
they sit alone
and float
and how am I
so different
than a planet
or a star?

So I've decided to write you
a love letter.

and this is it,
here,
words dropping from
my bones like
autumn
trees release
their leaves,
&
undress for
winter

Darling,
you are a
forest where
I want to run
and climb
the fallen trees
to count the rings
in all your
whisperings

where flowers
grow like
laughter grows
and I welcome
every bit of light
or shadow cast
behind your
budding
woodland
where I can
feed your
Arcadia

So here I
hope the sun
will always birth your
hopes and
nurse away
your sorrows.

I'd like to say I've
grown from hollow, from the yellow
flowers in the dell -
from the fading wings of
promise, to the
loved from infidel

I'd like to say I've
found the plateau, from the depths
of all our wars -
from the hazy shade that
summer makes
-
from now to
evermore.

Tonight, I am in a field of vision.
I see the future stand before me
holding out her hand to me
revealing her plan to me.
Fate sees greater things in me.
No longer concealed, in the valley,
I stand.
Tested, as man.
empty spaces lay before me,
and choices, ahead of me,
I follow as she guides me
keeping hope alive in me.
She says,"everything that was is over now."

I breathe.

I met Destiny in the field, tonight.
My prophecy was portrayed to me
and I saw my future in her eyes.
Unveiled, so easily, she showed me the truth.
And whispered, "You will always know, always have known, that the earth meant greater things for you."

I knew.

I played with the future tonight.
And she touched me with divination.
Caressed me with vaticination.
Tonight, she blessed me with my prognostication.

I received a vision.

I keep meaning to give you
all the letters that I
wrote
and to
resist
this restraint, my hand holding onto
the paper
of the words
I almost told you,
felt the need to tell you,
in the silhouette of
candle flame and
sitting alone.

I'm so courageous when I'm
by myself,
and when I know what my lungs
feel like
what my fingers feel like, pinching a
pen to tell you, wholeheartedly,
the things I
will not say

I keep meaning to give you the letters
I wrote you,
I wrote you my secret and

a secret is a loss
that feels like an
ephemeral
victory

I always thought I'd
  feel the same,
living off of fumes
you can't stop burning

I always thought I'd
  want to stay
Inhaling and
exhaling all our poison

I don't know if through
thick smoke
you can see where this
is going

I'm throwing out our
ashes and pretending that
it's snowing.