He told her she was pottery; a vase with grooves and cracks.
The patterns of the history she hid behind her back.

Within his words he layered in- like thread upon a loom-
The sweetest undercurrent to illuminate that gloom.

In certain cultures, he decreed, when pottery is cracked
They aggrandize them with gleaming gold to bring their splendor back

For they believe, with certainty, once damage has been wrought
Those tiny cracks, now filled with light, hold truths that can't be taught.

Afraid to sleep,
we keep on working.
Afraid to sleep,
We meet the dawn
from either end.

When light comes,
its continuity calms us
and ancestors watch over us,
as we sleep in fits and starts.

Outside the kitchen door,
Señor Romero's own grapevine
says: "Buenos dias!", says
"Gracias a la vida!"

Inter-species dating never had it so good.
Shape-shifting constantly, he could be a man one minute,
a bear the next.
Old as the hills, then young as Apollo.

In her butterfly form she fluttered near his head,
and if he was a bear just then, and had
eaten no honey, this could be dangerous.

If he was a man, and was at peace, the colors of her
powdery wings would delight him beyond measure.
Blowing by him lightly, she would swoon a bit,
and the transformation would begin.

Dark eyes, slender arms, a thick mane of hair,
all the attributes of a woman would suddenly appear.

When they were at peace together, oceans became full
and smooth as glass,
sacred rivers flowed together, and their separate colors
became a new one.

But like some planets, their orbits were unsteady.
Peace was fleeting.

A tremor would go through the worlds,
and the fighting would begin.

Monumental destruction ensued.
Cinders blew by where hearts had been.

Over time, and blessed by journeys through the sky,
a new peace was formed, in friendship.
A new understanding began.
A trust began to build.

An end to this story is unthinkable.

Outside the subway we
saw an old man
dancing in the rain.

[There he gave
birth to a revolution.

Dare to say
he was only a man,
like me, like you,
born to rule, to conquer,
to defy, to rave,
to seize
the promise of another day.

There was a
sweet conversation
in his mind, where he ruled
kings in his wisdom.

All the gold in the world
couldn’t beat his
dancing soul.]

Outside the station we
did not see a man -
we saw the sun aligned with the stars.

And it makes you wonder
if such gentle and uncompromising act
alone justifies the purpose of existing.

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

A mermaid found a swimming lad,
Picked him for her own,
Pressed her body to his body,
Laughed; and plunging down
Forgot in cruel happiness
That even lovers drown.

The quarrel of the sparrows in the eaves,
The full round moon and the star-laden sky,
And the loud song of the ever-singing leaves,
Had hid away earth's old and weary cry.

And then you came with those red mournful lips,
And with you came the whole of the world's tears,
And all the trouble of her laboring ships,
And all the trouble of her myriad years.

And now the sparrows warring in the eaves,
The curd-pale moon, the white stars in the sky,
And the loud chaunting of the unquiet leaves,
Are shaken with earth's old and weary cry.

Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That's all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.