untethered
the rain

tapped incessantly
upon the surface

of the sea
smoothing the waves

calming the pull
of the tide


this is what love feels like


the weight
of it

the drumming
of the blood

percussive
through the corridors

flooding its way
to and from

the heart
where it hides

in quiet places

this little wrist
of sand

marks many
a morning’s search

wave worn
and shore washed

like shells
stones

or broken bits
of coral

tossed about
in tidal bows

once i woke                 certain there was no god
once i watched           a mountain lion bound the trail before me
once i walked             with venus and jupiter in the pre-dawn sky
once i was

where does such wild come from?
why does the full of the moon excite us so?
when you died, did you collect all the perfect petals?

this new morning light is not
some mask or bright new coat to slip on

it is not
a sign or signal of what once was or will soon be

these waves are not
the fingers or fists of some dark leviathan roaring forth to claim my body

they are not
glassy cylinders splintering into millions of pieces on the shore

last night’s full moon was not
a pale coin or some other currency of love or mystery

these things just are
as we are

beautifully present one moment
and gone the next

you either understand that
or you don’t

morning

spills of bird song
the persistence of a wary dog
the stars and their small hands still building

afternoon

a duet of car alarms
the siege of a dump truck
the tantrum of a neighbor‘s television
a badling of helicopter blades
a ****** of motor scooters

match strikes spark

                                                                                                               a body

skin catch kindling

                                                                                                           in flames

all smolder smoke

                                                                                                           feels like

and blister burn

                                                                                                               a body

that crackles charred

                                                                                                           in flames

black and black

there is no pleasure
in their harsh notes

even beneath the bluest skies
there is no beauty

in their flight
a frantic choreography

as if taking to the air
for the very first time

twitching
from one tree

to the next
but their color

such a giving green
and that breath of red

patched just beneath
each wing

says much
of their humor

their jocularity

will you have a look at us?
how the hell did we even get here?
and really who knew all this would be such fun?

many
are the morning ghosts

who see
what we cannot

who architect
in the broad sweeps

of things
the sky

perfectly pieced
with the sea

the waves
piling up

on the strand
how the trees

and the earth
tendril together

to weave their way
up up up