She strikes the keys with shaking hands
Letting the tears spill out
Trying to capture everything she is scared to lose;
To paint him
Or her
And this star-filled night
Before it dies
Before it dies
Before it dies

But, beautiful one,
The glory is not out there for you to grasp
Like sand through broken glass.
You are not subject to the magic of the muse
Or the heart-tones of his laugh.

Your magic enchants these forms against an ordinary
Gray horizon.

The light was always yours.

The exquisite power of your words is yours
And not ours to dictate,
Nor to own.

What we see bled across the paper
Isn't just the majesty of the things
You love,
But the beautiful mystery of your own, tremendous spirit and its
Giving capacity to love
Coloring an open tundra.

So write on, poets,
As you feel compelled by the music of your soul
Write on and never let anyone demean
Or control
The visions that are yours,
Built and translated through the glory of your own
Enchanted
Spirit.

All is quiet and
All is still
And the thick curvature of these hills
Rolls on against a starlit November night.

Spirit boy
Draw me in
Hands gentle as the midnight wind
Caress the contours of my chest
Like earth against my skin

Or flames that lick
And bend.

You are born where mountains begin
And your soul is both stone and sky
And quiet laughter ringing through the infinite galaxies
Of your eyes.

Spirit boy
I can feel
Your heart is beating

Wild

And I am pressed against your wildness like a desperate tide

And I will spread and rise and crest and break
Against your hardened precipices like the raging river
Against the rocks.

And when
From the highest perch above the valley
The
Hawk
Takes
Off
And the untamed horses run

I will grip these sheets and scream

And lose my breath
When you press into me,
Trembling,
Like a heavy mallet
On the sacred drum.

See you everyday
haven't seen myself (in quite a spell)

my brain is
an abandoned building, a dry well

I traced your phone call
to some viral spiral

I'm connected to you
in a spider-like way

--webs, phobias and decay

the essence of life is
reproduction and mortality

see you everyday
in shivering downloaded depravity

your starry smiles
your synthetic ciphers

and I'm all alone again

this body is a safe house
this fear, a panic room

but the enemy within
is always right under my skin

Now the winter reaches in with
Razor edged hands,
Clasps the browning leaves
And yanks the last remnants of
Summer down
To the chilling ground
And I am like a forgotten August sunset
Dripping tears of crimson and gold
Along the gray horizon
And the earth is shifting slow,
Turning away

From a love that could have been

If there ever was an eternal summer
As gardens set deep within
The Misty Mountains
A certain holiness repressed
Beneath the depths of impenetrable glacial walls.

I have called for your voice across the frigid tundra
But it is as lost
As it ever was.

The songbirds cry

And oh, how I have known them long
A little girl
Reaching for their hearts behind the ephemeral whispers
Of the song

Winter’s fog descends like burial cloth  
And they are gone.