Precious may the hard veil of widowhood be drawn back at least for the time you read this

Secret location of Oline Indain sacred ground marriage and burial ceremony  in proximity of Carmel Ca it is a natural place first and foremost but you can see the
Orderliness of man’s hand not much is disturbed it would be foolish to mess with perfection but the sea
Side flowers they stand five feet tall and at the top they plume into the most perfect white well these
Are laced around this half circle horse shoe a perfect concert pavilion and by placing them like military
Troops evenly across and then line after line one in front of the other what trembling glory when the sea
Breeze enters its like it says pardon you won’t mind look at this as it moves ever higher it like seeing the
White gowned saints in worship as they undulate and sway in unison by this great tender moist hand
From deep rich waters what bedevilment is on display that is the back and then across the white sand
Two hundred feet table top smooth this bed that soothes your feet to the point relaxation travels up the
Whole of your body this is a natural fixing of tension dispelling any thoughts of frowns and at both ends
You have identical cliffs that tower in the sky you find yourself in the center looking at one and then the
Other at nature’s perfect handy work I found its good you are standing and are cradled by a soft face of
Sand because as you peer at the lofty heights at times you can have dizziness over take you and you
Topple over know harm now you can set and study the plant life that flourishes as it shares its life with
The rocks especially the scrub bushes how they twist and give a bitter smile through knarled prickly
Shoots but how they amaze when they have such a small tenacious hold and as you find yourself finding
How much you admire them your mind and soul understands and feels how you know the feeling of
Their scraping that has removed some unwanted mire on the order of the barnacles that attach them
Selves to great ships and great fish with this cleaning of negative thought now free you turn to the
Climate of mood stirrings nowhere else can do it like the sea and the haven it provides you bank afire
Outside up against the cliff not in your sea side shack this is the time to muse and it is the time when
Guest come the whispered name of this cove is the cove of lost loves the waves break gently and rush
Over the beach when they approach the water mixes’ with the moon light a different white is mingled
The mystery of all that distance and the darkness it has pierced and then to come to this place in
Particular with the rhythm of eternal knowing that only the sea can know just beyond the breakwaters I
Know they are coming because it is always preceded by a great misty cloud then it appears a schooner
Fast and sleek several sails that draws your mind to them they are there festooned in glory tonight
Someone from home I can’t tell you how but their spirits come this is the breaking waters that have one
Purpose they draw to gather here to touch the broken hearts hear heaven speaks at lands end it
Matches their situation they come bound by tearful sorrow of loss and separation here they wear a
Garland of flowers they are unique and are only found here the moment they are placed on their head
As long as they wear them all memories of death is erased and the only knowledge they have is the
Flood stage of first love how it felt and what it meant Iva and terry has this surging through great
Coursing torrents the sea pulls from one side the land calls with familiar sights and sounds they swirl in
Love’s boundless waters they wear cloth like white terry cloth airy as the thoughts that holds them in
Richest peace you can look in the eyes of the one you love anyplace but when death has laid its heavy
Hand on a life then you need this secret place that is so powerful it can leave Iva at home and leave
Terry peacefully sleeping but here they can move with the eternal rhythms outside normal existence
Breathe taste the sea air it’s uncommon as we really are inland you are confined by a rigid reality come
Among glory first hand it will begin to break earths hold and you can soar and walk hand in hand with
The Acute loss that plagues you holds one another by the fire it is the soul and spirit that we truly love
Look to The sea be renewed on these shadowed calm waters the privacy of them are for you both the
Sea is Generous it provides abundantly now it flows with gentle tenderness it awakens souls that are
Adrift it gives a cherished refreshing to those who the Bain of death has burned with a fiery sorrow here
The sand is more than cool and wet your steps will include visions prepared before the earth cooled it
Will give new stronger perspective brush through the willow that hangs laden with the moisture of the
Sea within its shelter take notice of its spines bending divinely as they create a shelter of benevolence
May you Iva and Terry also find a brief reunited happiness in this sheltered cove in the midst of a golden
State where wonder is possible

imagine if we wrote 'ampersand' instead of 'and'.
ampersand you invited me into the light, cuddled me senseless in our darkness. i swear i could see for the first time. i told you i loved the sea, but your words crashed like waves on the breakwaters gating my heart.
"bae, we cannot always be beside what we love".
maybe that's the nature of our love. that your deflated buoy can no longer save the drowning me, that you sink deeper in your abyss of ideals.
Today i'm writing a postcard to you from my past, hoping you could extrapolate into the possibilities of our future. We made hypothetical promises in our religious fervour, in the unsettling chill of a certain Midsummer night.

Walking to the bodega,
I think about those sparrows
that run in the wind,
even when there's a cold blow
going,
and they work
like freaks
with sin on their mind.

Once I clear myself
of you,
I will write
like I used to,
I will be free
of the breakwaters
to read,
write,
and create
again, but love
or whatever-the-****-it-was,
has put a stop to
everything,
and I walk
to the bodega
with a head full of nothing;
no thermals,
no heat for me to ride, but I'm sure
I'll be okay,
I'm sure
you don't care.

I'd rather
be safe on some branch
lapping acid rain out
of a lead saucer,
than trying to ford
this river in the air
with nothing, not even a pair
of wet wings.

When I get
to the store,
I buy a pack of Marlboros
and ask
for all the lead
in the world.

He looks at me
with a screwface,
so I ask him again,
and he
says
"No loitering."

I was gonna fly home,
gonna try and test my
shoulder blades and see if maybe
I could make something happen.

But, I go to the garbage barge in the back
and sit, beside it, gravel scratching my *** with stingers,
as light scissors out of the sky;

little needles of sun in
the little oceans
in the little asphalt craters
making little,
if not any,
noise,
and I lean
drinking something slightly mean,
a forty and another in the bag,
because it usually helps in these situations.

I left my wings somewhere
and I cry there,
cry because I'm
stranded
in a place that I have never been,
with all the light in the world
and no place to put it.

I murked out,
at some point.

Because no one and no thing can stop a heart from breaking ;
Because once sorrow is unleashed from the deepest crevices in ourselves, the flood and waves of hurt cannot be halted by even the strongest of all breakwaters ;
Because humans are social creatures and though the loneliest of us deny this, we cannot help but want love when there is no love to receive, want to hope though we know it is hopeless, want to believe though we know it is not to be or perhaps, never to be ;
That is why when the tears flow, I cannot just stop them.

I am borrowing-
your smile.
Hold my hand to the end
of my pain.

Collecting the stone fruits
for a ritual. I will
skin the pink-yellow shade
for your eyes.

Like fire ants- moonlight
stings. Smothering all
the embers. Some flames won't die.
The crazy affair empties a poem.

Croci will go wild. But you
want to wear a rainbow.
Your delicate arch of eyebrows
drains the tears.

Something was strange.
Breakwaters were melting away.

I sat between the breakwaters,
Watched the sea
Make its endless dance.
It needs no command,
No decision,
It has no vision
Of past or present,
Thinks not of tomorrow
For all are irrelevance.
The sea was
And is
And will ever be.

But for me
The dance will one day cease,
The music will stop and I shall be
Just a memory.

So I need to dance more
While I can,
Hear louder music than before,
Sing and be glad
For the days I am given
So the memory
Is of joy, not sorrow
And I’ll not think
Of tomorrow
Until it comes.

stops waves to
breakwaters

but an antidote no for some poisons