Your hair is
blowing in the wind again
the rusty window rolled down
static on the radio
forehead sweating
its pearls

you just got
back from the doctors again
and the news was
anything
but good

and I've been waiting for this
moment
for longer than
I'd like
to say

When I saw you spiraling out of control

When I saw you consumed by self
loathing
and embarrassment

and I saw you cry
your pearls

And each tear was
more beautiful than

a thousand cranes
I'd fold to make you well again.

At the end of
the day,
when the city,
dressed in black,
is quiet,

I'll sit underneath
my blanket
and I'll close my eyes
to you

and while my eyes
are silent
and yours speak a
thousand words
the smell of your
cologne will
linger
and I'll be lost for
words

When it's summer
and the night is
slowly fading
I'll wait for you to
ease my soul

and I'll put
on another hot,
black *** of
coffee
and I'll let you keep
my sorry heart
you stole

I bought a coffee
cup for a quarter
today,
with an old
automobile
and a
crack on the side-

and three, old,
weathered
books
about the way
someone else
sees life.

I found
five records.
Records with
hopeless
love songs,
and two wool skirts because
my love,
the  fall
is coming...

this is life-
this is the
best it gets,
I'm certain.

where I'm smiling in
a thrift
store and
the hope of
evolving
romance
fills me
to the
brim

It's a good thing I bought
a cup
because
my dear,
I'm spilling over.

We drove out to
Dorena Lake
out past those
little towns,
buried in maps,
"It's not like it's New York
  City, baby."
your sweaty
fingers clamping
a burning cigarette
I can't even look at you.
It's not like New York
City as we
drive past cow
after cow after
barn and
those bails of
hay covered
in white
plastic.

I'll never forget
the shape of your hands
how your fingers
dance on a baby grand.

I can see in your
eyes there
is sorrow
and I can see you
row,
out of
control,

on the edge of the sea you are
lonely

and you long to be
everywhere all at
once-
you have to know
I feel the same
to go and
stay with you,
to pull towards the
shore
then back to sea
with you

Darling, if on the edge of a cliff
you dangled your grief,
I'd hold that rope with you.
Use my tiny, agile, painter's hands to
hook on every
misery,
to
hang over
the edge of alienation,
a pendulum of problems where ocean's mist
can cut the cord

I want to bear the weight of all your
worry, until the
lighthouse stream goes
grey
and watch your doubts,
your troubles,
your need for what it is you cannot find
slowly fade
away

I'm on the edge of a cliff,
with you
and your sadness can't make me
sway
to pull towards the
shore
then back to sea
with you

I've never moved ink like this,
and like ink is
surprised by the
sudden shift,
           so am I
surprised by how
I've never been swayed like this
either

You'd think a poet-dancer-painter-joiedelavie-creator
would have felt the
  move of
everything and
  never missed a
cue or crossed-T
but

there are ways I'm finding
to push the pen that I
haven't tried
before
and
I am
being
moved as
well, in ways my
spindly bones did not know
that they could bend,
before

like growing the fruit at the
end of a
branch, I'm learning to
  balance
           the
          weight

There's a way
in fall that seems
forgotten
a way in
Autumn that
  never fails to own
you

I'm sitting in a
coffee shop,
but my heart's in
Barcelona.

I never noticed the
flowering tree on
Franklin Boulevard

I walked down
that footpath
a thousand times,
and saw right through
the bark.

But now it's full of
blossoms that
reflect the sunshine's rays

and I hold my
breath as I walk past
and shower in
the shade.

I never saw the tree
because some roses
line the street

So I ignored simplicity
(eyes and roses meet)

Now I can't ignore
the blossomed tree
growing on Franklin
Boulevard

It's profound how a
flower blooms and
makes you notice bark.

The moon is
sitting
in her *****
bathwater,
going cold,
always in
the cycle of
here and
not

why is it
that with
this beauty
I cannot
be happy?

Could you forgive the siren I am?
How this sea is eating me.
and has swallowed me up,
body whole, I'm incomplete.
There is no sunrise under these waters.
No end and no beginning.
No warmth. No touch.

I only see blue.

I will not be a siren to you.
Filled with false acclamations and tales.
covered with blue and black,
A beast who cries ink and does not see the tentacles forming underneath her.
I vow to never sing a song that is not mine
to ears as deserving as yours.
Oh, to let you in the depths of me,
every cave, every fissure.
Your eyes on everything that rouses within me.

To be the shoreline to you.

And to never haunt you with the fathoms of the deep and illusory,
transparent words I formed.
I can only look up at you,

beached.

the ***** of the sea.
repulsive and exposed.

Forgive me for the siren I 've been.

I'm looking through
a piece of
glass
that I
found on
the beach- and
through the warped
exterior- the rippling
surface of its sea-soaked skin
I see myself looking
back at me
against a
backdrop
called
the
sky

I'm a reflection
in a
shadow and
I don't know why
I love you,
like I do,
but I do,
and I'm looking
at a piece of
beach-glass,
hoping to find
you.

I'm not sure what happened
my first night at the
symphony -
it was a dark October
& you brought the
thunderous wonder of
        the Oregon
                   sea

I'm not sure what
touched me as your notes
lead me
to the pier -
      I'm drowning in idolatry
               for your beacon
                     & chandeliers

I'm stuck sitting in
the mezzanine,
legs-crossed in
the dark
being pulled
so many ways,
and I'm praying
beam me up,
beam me up
for the love of symphonies and
melodies,
abstract orchestral harmonies,
beam me up.

and I'm crumpling plans
in my hands
that I've went over and over
diagrams
of how to
work-things-out
which way to lean in-
to the wind and when
to let it pull
me up

These wings aren't
made for
flying
or softening
my fall,
and my arms weren't made
to find somebody new.
My hands weren't made
to take the pain
of the push, the grab, the pull
of knowing
I'm not
going up,
beaming anywhere with you.

I Fought a grizzly
bear
as you drank your
pomegranate tea

and I kept looking
at my arms
for marks,
and feeling my
neck for that
fever that climbs
up my spine and
burrows in my skull
until I just want
to take your

stupid tea

and shove it in
my ears
my nose
my eyes
my mouth
anything to make
the brown bear
run away, and
go
and make you see
that I can't fight a
bear alone.

How tree trunks hold
a sturdy limb who's
reaching towards the
light is how
I am always
holding
you
and love to
bear the
weight.

A bee
floats over a
blossom
and his wings
are one
with vision

living seems
so easy
when the hardest
parts are
hidden.

I've given a
new name
to my hopes-

looking forward,
when Winter is
a stone throw's
away

I may be a
Goddess of
silver lining, always
trying to
wade through
the thickened blue

But I used to know
nothing of
Romance or even
believe that
love existed

but now I will not leave
behind what's handed
to me, and, Godammit,
I'll stir the *** until
the fumes take
over

And I'll look back
at every thought
of you and
thank fate for
the time

And smile
even though
I lost you-

you made me
believe in
love again

when you lie
in your death bed
and the dreamcatcher
danced its solo
song

I told you that I'd be ok
even when
you were gone

But I only said it
because I had to
give permission
for you to
go

There are too many birthday cards
Christmas cards
letters carried in the snow
to be ok
in any way
and you will
never know.

Through falling snow
I see your
silhouette
against the
birches
where the light
can feel your
skin

where the cold is ever
lingering
and the winter
lies so deep

between the
fallen snow
I hear your laughter
where a drop of dew
is poetry
and so is a
navy jacket
brushing
against twigs.

When I was
a kid,
I'd lie out on
the broken
deck,
never afraid
I might fall
in
with
the
rotting
boards,
but scared
instead the
Big
Dipper had
moved from where
she lied the
summer
  before.

I baked a
cookie in
a cup
in the microwave
a cup with
big red hearts
my socks with
big red hearts
my chest of
big red hearts
Oh endlessly,
I love you.

Between the lonely moments
  And the "I'm so glad you're here's"
And the end of a scotch glass,
Or one too many beers

Between ugly and healthy and
   Birds who forced bees,
  I've finally learned
You were never against me.

They say the sound
of bird song
calms the
body,
rests the
  pulse.

So fly into my
canopy
beneath
a thousand
trees,
darling,
you're like a birdsong
        to me.

How beautiful are you
that strings are
pressed by your
bony fingers
and a sound
becomes a
song-
your lanky arms, a
carriage
formed for pushing,
pulling a choir
out of  silent
moments, sitting in a
quiet room-
there's something tragic about
you.

If you're to
hold onto
anything  other than
me,
let it be
birdsong and
ringing.

The sun is shining
through the glass
and the twinkling city
lights are fading

and I'll think of you
and douse myself in
black

My hair, black
my nails, black
my clothes all stained
in the deepest black

and I don't have to explain

I'm a black cat.

I'm sleek and writhing,
moving my hips back and forth
to avoid
broken glass.

Tiny feet pitter
patter
making no sound as I drop to the
floor.

I am a black cat.

with eyes as green as emeralds
and rapid breathing.
I can't stop moving.
I can't stop ruining
everything you set in front
of me.

I am a black cat.

I am poison.
I'm like Macbeth in a theatre
onstage
watching the lobby go to flames.
watching the people scurry
I chase them.

I'm a black cat.

I'm stupid.
I'm young.
I'm terribly simple
and simply afraid.
and every tale you hear of me
is not true at all.

Oh, black sky tonight
life is good; fate's done all right.
You and me
we both collide
in love.
and trust.

Seething in your gentle lust.

Oh, dark clouds, we fight.
I can see; love gave me sight.
You and me
in the moonlight
in love.
unplanned.

Gently is how you hold my hand.

Oh, your touch is sweet.
With each touch you're taunting me.
You and me.
We both agree.
We love.
We know.

In our hearts we can't let go.

Oh, you're breath is sweet.
With each breath you're haunting me.
You and me.
Eternally.
In love.
Apart.

Even then, you'll hold my heart.

Always and forever together.
And like the ocean meets the waves
I need you 'til
my dying day.

Oh, lights off in town.
Lamp on low; the curtains down.
You and me
don't make a sound.
In love.
And rest.

My heart is beating in your chest.

A mess you have made
and I have fallen
in love with the sun
in my eyes,
even though it blinds me
and all I can see is black
when I look away,
Sunshine, what a mess
you've made.

you are that tiny
bud, the one about
to bloom.
the one that seems
to be singing
a song
that only I can
hear.
And bees and
birds and
ladybugs
[forget me nots]
nothing can resist you
[here]

But I simply
could not pick you.
Could not take you
from the vine.
Couldn't take you in
my hands
and squeeze and
hold you
all the time.

I couldn't destroy
you
flower
in such a
selfish manner.

you are that tiny
bud
[to watch you]
bloom.

the breeze is cool
my skin is rose
I'm alone and
you're a ghost

the sun, it sets
and color fades
my night kissing
shades of grey

...
even though
I love this life,
I can feel
such pain inside

It's not that I'm not
pretty,
that's beside the
point:

My eyes are seen before my
words
My body before my
contributions
My beauty before my
art

I am more than just an
ornament
and Christmas lights for
eyes.

In the hospital bed
you held my hand
your bony hands
touching bony mine,

bony mine, ever mine

your purple hands
and
thinning skin
your knuckles
slowly rolling
against mine

forever mine,

and I whispered that
your hands,
they were so soft
and you whispered back
Oh,
but I've worked so hard

work you did,
and your memories
are mine
and your love is
mine
and your pulsing
heart
your slowing
heart
your fading
heart
your bony
heart

is mine.

Famous love stories from
Paris
& poetry you
don't understand -

pages of maps from wars of the
past and
blueprints, models,
    attack plans

paintings in places
we might have been once -
and ghost towns that
I'd like to go
  the history of places buried so
deep in bomb shelters and
  trenches of
snow

From front to back
from your to my
hand,
chapters and chapters of
copy

The way that we speak is as silent
as wings:
we communicate in books
  and
  coffee

Bookstores &
confetti have a
peculiar thing
in common,

confetti is the
final form of
  trees.

You woke me
in the dead
of night
with a tired
moan

so,
of course I
ran to
your bedside
and heard
the rattle in
your tone

I told you
that you
must breathe
deep
you must
feel it
in your
bones

and you nodded
your
exhausted
head
and then
I felt you
go.

Last night,
we had six miles
to walk
to where
I parked the truck

the winding road
the mimicking trees
my eyes behind
a pair of shades I
found in the glovebox

Thank god,

I couldn't take my eyes off you
the way you know about
poetry and
art

and you notice how the
light cascades
swims,
over every shade of dark

and you said that I'd be "it"
someday
the last time that we spoke

but now you
walk as though
you've never seen
this ghost
before

but I know you
want me,
all the same.

Six miles to go, but so much more to me.

You left me a necklace
before you died.

and it sat in a dark
blue box

My name was
written in your
meandering script
that snaking
serpentine,
dreamy shade of charcoal
against parchment

and inside the box
so softly lie a silver
chain,
& on the
end a butterfly
as stiff as skeleton,
bones

You left me your last gift,
a butterfly

and you became a poem.

I am in love with you
and everything you've ever been
or touched
a whisper in the smallest flower
of your love

In every lavender or lilac bush,
your eyes reflect the violet
soul you hold
within the casket
called your skin.

I love the senseless
romance
in the goofy grin you style
and the way your hair
gently strokes your cheek
up and down the flowered aisle

I see the placid blush of spring
blossom in your love.

The world is
in pinkish hues
A constant
rosebud glow

When your love
is on my mind
And this feeling
grows

You're every black
bird singing,
Every shadow cast
In blue

You're a California
Poppy and
I long to be
With you.

I almost forgot our
mosquito love
song
buzzing at the Oregon
sky
in laughter
in mud, in splinters and
hay
We used to be giants
too big for small
spaces
untouched by grace and
light
But we've heard it, grace, exists
somewhere
outside of us
outside of fear
outside of the unknown
outside of stamps and
welfare and the place we
call home
I almost forgot our
mosquito love
song

The turn-table's in
rotation and
Otis is rallying
my sin,

Oh,
your cambridge blues
are piercing
me
where I'm kneeling in your
pew
like God himself
has been here,
like God himself
cast you

you dust another
record
and you
phrase it on your
shelf

you're everything,
an eclectic,
class-act
tapestry,
boy, you're something
else.

Camden Lock
and the sky is
piercing me
grey again
And that Otis song is
playing in my head again

and there's a woman
on the street,
she's singing,
that change is gonna come
that a change is gonna come
again

And I can't speak English.
I can't speak French.
I can't sing or move my
feet
because she's afraid to die
and the night is getting
darker
and I am getting colder
and so am I,
so am I

and the underground
has stopped its roar
and the orange lights
are holding on
and the rain is trickling in the gutters
and so am I,
my darling,
so am I.

They call her
Candelabra Queen
with wax in her hair
a crow,
sleeping in her mane
to light each
fire that goes
out

fingers more
delicate than lace
a needle to
go through
and mend
the puddle
of a heart

Candelabra Queen
who sits for
centuries, with
cat skulls on her
throne of
years forgotten
years where
statues had viridian
eyes and zircon
was taken
from the grave

Where sorrow and
desire meet
to find the
common ground
on which
we forget
we're walking

I'm walking in the same world as you
Where is your understanding
and your shame?

It's been a year
since I saw you
die

since I slept rest-
lessly, my forehead pressed
against your
hospital bed

Night after night
your struggling
breath and
the beep beep beep of
your monitors

It's been a year spent
licking my wounds
in hopes that they
would heal,
like people say that
time will do

It's been a year
since I saw you
die
and, my
love,

I still can't
live without
you.

You taste like caramel
and I don't even
have to
open
my
    
   mouth

You washed up
with the waves
last winter
with the
rejected corpses
of jellyfish
and rotting seaweed
pulled from sandy
trenches

you rolled in
with the sea foam
who birthed
Aphrodite
and the glass orbs
from sunken
ships,
gone by

in with the
driftwood
and the cawing of
seagulls
dipping down
to touch the
haggard surface
of your chariot

and with a gypsy "hurrah"
and the clank of my zills
my arm up
and my orange skirt hiked,
I ran into the under-toe
to save you

I will take you from the waves,
my love,
and carry you off into the night
(if that's what you want)
but I am not
the Pacific
or the full moon who
shows her face each night
who pulls you to the shore
when the
tide is high
I will shine a light on you,
but
I can't be your caravan.