a feeling of the dark belying color
the tension of failure in romance
near unbearable distance between those closest to you
a quiet walk in a garden
broken words unsaid on the ground
that we pretend not to see
absorbed as we were in the flowers
we planted in a
storied bed

old hurts like river rocks
out all day in the sun
stay warm at night
under the star vigil
watching the water split
and come together

and I kissed the leaves
traipsing wanton
loosing something into the night

when your storied words
curled my ear
turn my mind to knowing fright

I left my own understanding of love
in an overgrowth of
thorny lusts and
wiles
and in moonlight
rediscovered
healing at your voice

forever not
to be another
wanton traipsing
***** dreamer
but a man
to count his fingers in the dark

tendrils of bathing mist
preceded steps
drips
drops
and out of the flushing warm to the
waiting, not-yet-waning moon
no pockets with which to keep a word
but on my lips
"remember"
as locked eye
the moon and I
renewing vows
remember

In the jingle-rattle
old friends
new fruits
and the same two feet
on cold stone
looking up at you and I
remember
what it is to be
what I am
when what I am is

What has been made is
of every lilting hand
a shape
of light in the
air

Dusted fingers
holding the clay particulate
mineral map of
star journeys to stretch
as a skin
on a drum
the path of water
in a bowl

Ringing children
tuffs of seed
a basket with bread
and fruit
and a glass jar of water

Untouched
without pause or plan
the form finds itself
both the handle and the head
of an axe
to make an axe

Of a basket
of a string
such is the way
of being made