I look towards the skies
Your image in the clouds,
Like bubbles of my thoughts
Everywhere, with me you come,
Always present in my mind

I'll never tell you how I feel
the way I've lived my short years
Smile of the lips, cadence in my walk
I'm never honest when you want to talk
Ill say this and that, but my words will lack
Because what I mean, I always take back
I'm not trying to be mean, with you I'm not mad
Just right now, my thoughts are rather sad
I'll never tell you how I feel

On this early chill November morning
where are you now, my firefly,
in crystal ground, under log or leaf?

Where is your crew in its dying?
Have your babies wakened
to winter sleep?

I recall how on July evenings, when I came out,
I had long listened for your messages.

Blessings to you for accepting me, my witnessing
your spotted twists free-floating down;
your drifting off and on through moonlit tree,
visits to my wrist, a shoe.

I was happier than happy—
happiest as happy be.

Had you felt my spark
electric energy?

Multiple mystery goes slipping
in and out of my pocket.

And now, these few months hence, there is
this glint on the frost-etched window.
Flash of apt stillness.

A wild-voiced picture:
our pleasure’s twin.

How could I say I know exactly what you are?

By my ear and everywhere I would say!
These light flung words of yours,
not mine, to lend.

Yet, if I could love you so truly and then release you,
would I comprehend what life wishes to teach me
about possessiveness, the brevity of existence,
time itself, worlds of no time?

Most joyful would I leave all the faces of my dwelling.
Sail headlong into far-flung dream,
toward sky’s moon, hunting the sun.

Glimpse heaven in our dancing?

Behold you and my own body, firefly,
before we were born?

She says
Let's go
Live in a big city
And make art and change the world.
She can say this; she is art.
But my hands are bound
With ***** hair;
They cannot make.
He says
Come, run with me
We will live on the beach
And watch films and all will be love.
He can say this; he is love.
But my heart is strapped
With suds that wrap 'round it;
I cannot love.
They say
They are leaving
To live on the hills
And sit and think about life.
They can do this; they are life.
But mine is whirring and swirling
And whirlpooling
In a black drain.
Mother says
Get a good job, and marry someone
Who thinks like you and earns like you,
Eat, and breed, so your rabbits, too,
Can eat.
She can say this; she has bred, and earned, and eaten.
But I am held
By threads that catch
And tear on the jagged edges of my body:
Shoulders and eyebrows (sinking and rising,
in submission and rebellion).
Apartments constrict and choke;
Beaches drown me;
Hills are voyeurs with sharp surveillance;
And mansions
Have golden bars, that cling too tight.
For now though
— Shampoo, soap, drain, dry —
Monotony holds comfort
And museless function runs the key that jolts me
Onwards.