Today is a day to celebrate, not to be taken as a given
 Nor take for granted the gift of this our mortal life
  To praise which is to pass from here onto life eternal
   Don’t you know? It’s a mother who forms the endless circle
    Where the circle begins and the circle should end
     She opens a door with a key held only by her hands
      Calling upon angels of heaven to grant her a soul
       She has known me from before the first kingdom
        When the Father brought light to our existence
         Even then, she knew my flaws to their very essence
          She welcomed me without an ounce fear or reservation
           In humility, in obedience to the Father, in loving kindness
            By our Creator’s love, by mother’s choosing, her bravery
Today is her day
                                                                ­                         My mother’s day

Cocoon, dreamer, larva, schemer
Seething with beauty
Leaking for eyes
Trained for doom
In skinless disguise
Particular boy, flailing
Punctured at the *****
Tethered to mother
Throbbing, gnarled, sumptuous, old
May this newborn insect never be sold

To seek the narrow scope
Of ancient tongue
And forlorn script
Wherein beauty held science
And love conquered skin
In spite of dismal truth
That senile surrender
Let the stars be swallowed
Whole by the sun
Let that awe surround
And in time, confound
The sons and daughters
Of logic unknown yet
For fear of forgetting
The marvellous, vacuous beauty
That encircled your eye

ink is the same color
as a certain canvas

when you look hard enough
you can almost see
the stars sprinkled in there

There, the caldera bevelled
In the spitting image of her bell
Looking shy above the shore
Was the essence of her smell
Liquids sharp, naked harp
A catamite in my succor
Graceless heave, tender sleeve
Pearly trailing tail

Entwine, surrender, entwine, surrender
Scintillating boy or throbbing girl

In new moments, waves collapsed
Ink lashed on our toothless gaps
A monkey washed, motions high
Pink shores creased, began to cry
Swelling up like a storm
Smells of Eden, the baby is warm
In the cool flame which sits down still
As it marvels at the hole that it filled
Overlapping with her blue commotion
Like two hills on a vicious plane
Eunoia sighs in consummated sky
They curled deep inside
The cavity of their hands

As vesper came, they awoke with no name
But there was something on their tongues

I am a butterfly
hidden in my cocoon
slowly growing each day
awaiting the new moon
when my wings can unfurl
and I fly away, too soon.

I pulled my fingers out of the gutter
The Priestess turned her head to me
With her velvet pearls and trumpet stutter
"Do you belong to eternity?"
She twisted tight on my headlight
I widened her eye socket out of fright
I told her "honey, I like the look of your nose"
Which twisted up to the cosmos

Then she looked beyond
Like some small vagabond
Looking through a door
That wasn't there anymore
The black sea stretched across
She wielded my hand
Against the sleepless night

The town was crooked
People were empty
Tied to balloons and corpses of brides
The beds were shallow
The shore bred mountains
Yet there she was to taunt me
To envelop me
In her majesty's vice

The sky was an ocean, clouds of foam washing against the mountains.
The sun was a golden drop of honey, casting light upon the emerald grass.
A pond lay still in the field of green, motionless and peaceful.
Calm was the water, and silent was the breeze.

One day when the sun was barely peeking over the mountains and the field was full of an early mist, the wind carried a single drop of water to the center of the emerald meadow.
The droplet fell into the grass and sunk deep into the earth.
For days of sun and nights of moonlight, the water and soil bonded to create roots.
The roots grew stronger by each morning, until one day a bit of a stem rose from the ground.
Hidden by the tall grass, it was still unseen.
The sun nor the moon could see what was slowly growing just before their gaze.
While the sky changed colors countlessly and the mountains woke again and again, something was slowly rising from the grass.

Soon it grew taller than the emerald field, and indeed the sun and moon did see it.
They awed over the astonishing beauty of the small flower.
A body of green and a head of white, the flower stood proud in the center of the meadow.

As the sun was retiring and the moon was beginning to cast its eerie light, the clouds grew violent and a storm arose.
The sky was dark and rain fell.
The grass swayed in the crying wind but the flower did not wilt.
It held still, its roots in fact digging deeper into the earth.

The next dawn was quiet and dreary.
The sun was dimmer, the grass was duller, the pond was still resting, and even the mountains looked asleep.
The white flower was seemingly untouched and even more bright than it was prior the storm, morning dew resting on its delicate petals.

Later the same day, a soft wind came.
Though it was a small gust, it unexpectedly swept right under the flower and pulled it from the ground.
It was carried with the breeze and dropped gracefully into the pond.
It drifted down the river, floating peacefully in the blue water.
Then a current pulled it down, and the flower swirled down to the bottom of the pond, never to be seen by the sun or the moon again.


Many sunrises later, a drop of water was carried by the wind to the center of the field.
When it fell to the earth, it sunk into the soil and felt the familiar roots of a flower.
The water built upon the roots and eventually, in the field stood a single flower.