6am  
watching the sky turn rose and yellow
On silverlake mountain
Resting against soft cotton
That cradled me all night
High above the stirring city
one two three
Enormous crystal windows
On the opposite wall
Side by side
The bedroom
Flooded with light and color
Like Heaven asked to be invited in
The last licks of fire in the hearth
the wood crackling sleepily
The smell of coffee brewing in the little kitchen
And knotty pine outside in the forest
The warm spray of the shower
And I can’t resist
Crawling back into bed for a few moments
The cotton slipcover so smooth against my still damp skin
Remembering the night of candlelight
and soft music
breathless
as the sun engulfs me
through the picture windows
and whispers that
the day will only wait so long
goodbye cotton sheets
you are silk to me
and I will dream of you until we meet again.

This is my body.
I am
Skin and bones.
Flesh and sin.
I am doing my best.
And I am finally learning that
If I am not good enough for you
Or you
Or you
It is not my problem to become good.
I am what I am.
I am this story and its pale slipcover
Covered with words that my skin drinks in.
Ink is toxic
But love burns more,
And I am starting to know the unsettling truth that has been hiding
In my marrow for years:
I am no addict.
I am afraid,
But I am not dependent.
I need nothing but these feet to kiss the ground
And this heart to love the world.
The faces I've chosen to worship
Are starting to blend and meld.
The universe is beginning to have its own visage
In every person I meet,
And suddenly they can all mean anything
And none of them
Can mean everything.
And that is a loss, yes, it's a loss of faith
Of a stubborn longing I have served for years
That one set of eyes may outshine the others.
But the truth is that anything holy that I have ever touched
I have made so with my fingertips.
Anyone lovely I have ever adored
I have painted with my heart.
We are alone again,
Me and my bone-white sheath,
And we look forward.
Today somebody told me that no love is worth it
If it ever hurts you.
What a concept, what a dream- it stopped me dead.
A person whose touch brought no pain?
And I thought on the possibility for a moment,
And realized that the only people who could ever hope to give and get no pain in love
Are those who dwell beneath gravestones in the silent fields
And never touch at all.
Bravery is stepping forward into a brutal world
Knowing that it WILL change you
That it will mar you
That it will
Eventually
Claim you
And stepping forward anyhow.
Here I am in my moonlight skin, soft and delicate and easily punched through
Like a paper lantern
But what have I to fear
When the only thing I know about this world
Is that it will **** me someday?
The only thing I can be certain of is that I will lose all of this,
And so I am free to enjoy it as I please,
Knowing that I suffer no punishment
Only inevitability
Only
Nature.
I step on.
I surge on.
I have learned in these weeks
How to stand before the world
My naked soul
Shining in the sun
And be unashamed of my fragility.
I have learned and it has seeped inside of me
And I have cast off a veil I have clung to like death
A shroud I've hidden beneath
And for the first time in a long time
I stand, unconcealed.
This is my body.
And I am
Undaunted.

night
shrug off flannel coats
     leave them alone with each other
     on the floor
     get reacquainted
night whispers nothing all too sweetly
with its sore throat
down the hall, in the bathroom

now
on a floral sofa slipcover
reading two books with one light
     allegretto
night expects rain to peek in
barely humming nocturnes
barely ambient

barely
burying faces in crooks of knee
     dips of side
     curvature of neck
night relaxes
contentedly fallow
chilled
closer

(1)

                    An Open Door....
          
.....invites you, to move your feet...if you agree
you'd metamorphose from an old self, to a new one,
an open door brings in light...it's a portal, for sun,
air, wind, even fire......presences......emotions,
so they may slide in and out, easily...

in many ways, YOU become the door,
either you allow, or you refuse entrance, to
some knowledge, an opportunity, a flow of art,
an energy...or people...or deep hidden feelings,
could be a love that knocks...when time is right,
it flows beyond control, there're no barriers, no
hurdles...only wide spaces and clear pathways...
heart and mind are willing...no more holding back,
.......never mind, if there'd be half-open,
.........or half-closed moments...
::::::::::::::::
time...gives way for what is meant to be,
..........energies conspire
...molecules grow together into one mass...
...ideas meet, merge into one whole thought
or theory....allowing a glow to flow, and rule,
::::::::::::disregarding:::::::::::::::
the creaking and squeaking of the door jamb,
the broken ****...the loosely ******* hinges...
:::even the lowly moss, stubbornly clinging
to the edges of the tiled floor of the veranda,
the vine-y, bushy passion flowers growing wild
on the trellis, they both look perfect...to one
inspired, to one in love, nothing could be amiss,
....all become negligible...dispensable...
.....you show willingness.....to cope with
..........i m p e r f e c t i o n s.......


                         (2)

                        If I...

........were moss, i'd silently
fill the surface of my chosen ****** panel,
my concrete wall...my loved one, in hues
of green...coating its rough-surfaced gray
with tiny growths, so cool to the touch

i'd shield his sturdy, cold and moist body,
my tiny green leaves would be his slipcover...
inseparable, we shall be....i'd be grateful
for, he gives me a home, my habitat.....

.......i'd be the door to his wall...

.....when his existence is threatened
......i'd face all....go down with him
......break into pieces with him
......he and i...stony concrete and moss...
.....would recreate...start all over again,
......he...the wall toughened by seasons
.....and i....the door to his edifice..



Sally

Copyright September 3,, 2017
rrab