Every time someone I love dies I become more certain that they are the same thing: this birth and this death thing=illusions
and that time can also be added to this category because it folds
and it feels like past, present and future dissolve
they drop into a singularity
perhaps all occurring at the same time

Deadly Dior
Grave digging Givenchy
Dead bodies still in cells Celine
Children Crying Chanel
Some are still in the rumble Starbucks
Never Again, Nestle the why you funding genocides
I’m lovin’ it, McDonald’s- actually, no I don’t love you funding war
Where dreams come true Disney+, I beg to differ and offer. Where nightmares are funded for children caught in a conflict.
And so many more who to boycott, I do believe I have stumbled upon a long, long poem that wishes to be longer. Don’t forget you money speaks too like words and songs and paintings hung up.

love is expansive and gives a wide open field of flowers
not a narrow alley

it is patient, and teaches patience
it allows time for thought and time to collect oneself without the pressure of hurrying

so as my thoughts linger upon yours
I respect that you cannot be rushed
your far stretching freedom is always yours
wide as the eye can see

so I give you time my little self
and this time this self-love will grow deeper

When it comes ravaging
cutting your skin with glass
let the shards that fly in the same manner as a sandstorm expose the bones
for once and for stop hiding
all the brilliant shimmer that comes being being cut so deeply, the beauty white bone reflecting the light

All the Eyes of Eye are walking through the markets
performing a dismounting dance from buses
onto sidewalks
crossing street lights erratically
diagonally tracing their feet over a surface not as impressionable as sand
their gravity given weight: leaving little trace behind

...
The eyes of eye
are born one day, burgeon and transmute
and more eyes open
like lilies replenishing: the eternal spring of consciousness
Each pair of eyes is the Eye
...
It is late now but I have gathered my keys, put on a coat and walked to the corner store to buy Chamomile tea. I close my eyes and feel the cold breeze. One. One other person is walking far off in the distance down the same street as me. I see recognize them and whisper to myself “eyes are I”
...
Her eyes are the same color as mine. You could say she gave them to me–my eyes. I move through the world with them.

The trees are about to defy winter
like high driver
1-2-3

Here they go

She crosses bridges  (they are not to be venerated)

"She forgot God," the old man murmured, when she did not want to enter the parish.

It had been many years now, that the “what will they say" had become a spider web–ancient and swaying in the wind.

She knew that bridges are necessary.

“You have to cross bridges
but you shouldn’t venerate them ”

Her mother taught her that only God is to be venerated, but perhaps venerating  was not the point, “you have to cross;  you have to be in communion” she thought

Inside her chest she had found a corner where her soul would dissolve, and mix with the infinite energy of "everything"
and no religion would deny her that

And although the old  man knew about bridges he didn't know how to cross them.

The afternoon was slowly becoming evening, and Fatima decided she’d best stroll back home and enjoy to the fullest whatever daylight was left.

Ella cruzas puentes (ellos no son de venerar)

“Se olvidó de Dios ” murmuró el señor, cuando ella no quiso entrar a la parroquia.

Más ya hacia años que “el que dirán” se le había convertido en una telaraña, antigua y meciéndose entre el viento.

Ella sabía que los puentes son necesarios.

“Hay que cruzar por los puentes
pero no hay que venerarlos”

Su madre le enseñó que solo a dios se le venera, pero tal vez venerar tan poco fuese el punto, “hay que cruzar; hay que estar en comunión” pensaba

Dentro de su pecho ella había encontrado un rincón donde su alma se desasía, y se mezclaba con la infinita energía de lo “todo”
y ninguna religión le negaría eso

Y aunque el hombre supiera de puentes no sabía de cruzar

La tarde se estaba convirtiendo lentamente en noche, y Fátima decidió que sería mejor caminar de regreso a casa y disfrutar al máximo lo poco que quedaba del la luz día.

I could feel the difference
between a thin strand of hair
and a thin thread of spider web

Ten times you can circle over the same high peak
cycle through the seasons as you dare not to mountaineer
but every mountain of feeling must be felt
there is no way around such peaks
only lowly grounds where the merit of sorrow is the only badge you hold
and a hefty heart gets heavier with each
time around

my head is pressed against the white cover spread over the front lawn

I laid my body right under the sun wanting to feel it set.
...
Drifting

        Nnnn.  Drifting
                              ...
It feels a little cooler each time the sun sinks  lower
and the wind howls just a little louder each time I open my eyes to see dimmer patches of sunlight

On the tips of dried grass, I walk
bare footed aching to discover
where else a sea can be found when I am nowhere
close to the pacific roaring waves of my flat coastal city where angeles hum by the sea
and concrete kisses are copious to the flat soles of the huaraches,  plastic sandles and warm enough to be called friendly to the rubber soles of long haired girls on skateboards riding down the boardwalk

Where is the sea in this winter
when the chest holds tight to the air and wishes to expand for terror of the cold

long hours pass, dried stems come into focus
when the parched
glory of brown reveals itself as an abundance of  blades of grass marchitas to the two traveling
arches of my feet

what is grass in winter if not my answer

I am in a field of lilies
collecting flowers–making bundles
I will not come unless I am called

finally, i understand peace is a price too high to pay. continual compliancy is not a sign of consistency or of love. indifference is more painful than goodbye, and forgiveness is not something many are willing to do just as compassion is a muscle so is letting go so is admitting to seeing the steps you took of your own free will to destroy your own self worth. simple and benevolent the truth will find you scrape at your insides, stick its finger in your wounds
and reveal what still aches

We awoke to specks of white ash over our cars
the cloudy grey sky bore no sun just its heat
and the ocean breeze that cooled in my younger years had become futile
California burned
and although L.A  city did not
it was indeed a table that received a mantle of pollution

Without the piercing
arrow of the night
who is to say
what daybreak is

1.
Fizz and sparkles...
...undulated hair and a long salmon scarf
I stand over a running sink searching for you.

If there were fish swimming around my neck, defying gravity could I then reach for you?

Like i have reached countless times before,
sometimes i have gotten close enough
to have seen the clearness of your eyes meet me in defiance...
...what do I say to a child born into this world that smells of ocean?

2.
I met you years ago, when your  hands were small. And there was a sea rotating over your head. The whales seemed to soar above us –and you’d extend your left hand and guide me in.

3.
Your world... so gentle. You could not bare to leave it. When people see water circle around your fingers, you do not care to explain to them such a phenomenon

that is why love you
that is why I do not drink the soup of this     world

  that is why I keep sieving their words
  and this faucet water through my hands

  4. I lose you sometimes, but I always come back. It’s odd to live in a place such as this without your company.

the salt chuck above your head and the inlets that hang close to your ears guide me back in to the reefs and among the floating fishes.

5.
Fizz and sparkles...
...undulated hair and a long salmon scarf
I stand over a running sink and I see the reflection of  you
smiling back at me.

en el molcajete están los claveles de mi abuela y los pétalos de las rosas del jardín de mi madre
a ellos les agregó aceite de amapola de California y me la unto como remedio

placed inside the mortar are my grandmother’s carnations
and petals from the roses in my mother’s garden
to them I add California poppy oil and I spread them over me as a remedy

I do not want to chase a life that is not mine.
I want to flow like water down a mountain.
Stretch myself
unite myself
with more streams and rivers traversing  
their way down to the ocean.

I do not want a life that is not mine.
Mine is good enough;
grace is my guide.
I close my eyes and it leads me
through the pointy rocks of dogma
and through the curving shape of time.

What is for me
will flow to me like water;
this is the nature of things.

Someday I will reach the sea
like everyone else,
but I want to do it in good company

(I want to do it as water.)

the birds flutter through the sky and some suddenly dive  
only to emerge again from below the skyline and into my line of sight

where as the things below the outline of the cityscape remain distant
life remains ever close and present in the palm of my two hands

here I hold life, as I stare at my purple and green veins that give route to the warm blood
I also witness the unflagging effort of this heart
that joyously flutters too while keeping me alive
                                               ...

Joyous is the living heart alwaysstayclosetoit      a  n  d

i  f     y  o  u    f  i  n  d     y  o   u   r   s   e   l   f    
        
            g     e      t     t    i     n    g               m       o        r      e
                

d       i         s        t        a          n        t

            
                          f
                       ­                              r
                                                               ­              o                
                                               ­                                                      m
      


                                                         i     t

             y  o u   c a n  alwayscomebacktoit;theheartwaits

                            ­                        ...

It does not need to be summer for me to be a fountain where the birds can come to drink before they flutter and are gone from my line of sight or even for me to overflow and nourish the small weeds that too would like to grow and live. It does not need to be summer or be spring or be an easy life for me before I choose to become a fountain spouting water

                                                   ...
"Joyous be the truly living heart" she whispered
and my heart grew wings and fluttered
                                    the things the flora whisper astound me
                                    even the birds come to them for words of wisdom
                                                  ...
were­ we ever apart, the birds and I
we both like to sing and no one knows why
and we both love to fly even under a grey sky

It is good to travel alone, to venture into my being
no people to distract me
no vision of tomorrow to blind me
nothing but
me
and everything I neglected to feel together in one room

my body naked in the morning rising
to shower, rinse and pat dry
my headscarf over my wet hair
the peeling of an orange
the boiling water inside the kettle
my willingness to face the day

I send photographs to my mother
she calls me her butterfly, her bird
her brave girl
on a wall of my old room she
had painted “fly “

and I think back to being five years old holding onto her leg
scared of letting go on the first day of preschool
anxious to swim in the ocean for the first time
shaking at the thought of rock climbing

I thinking back to her smiling
telling me to go and be free
this her greatest gift in this world bundled in words of encouragement often too harsh
she used to get mad, that at first I would not take it
but I know I treasure it
her toughness, her zest, the courage it takes a mother to open her palms

my nakedness to feel, the nabi flying
                    my obsequió is
meu vida pra ser quem sou

the woods are moist with the fever of fear
suckling the after thoughts of speech
spit out without regard
for the crickets venturing to sing
or the widening of the streams
strong with neglect of the rusting branches touching tip to tip

(but) this is what we are, a forest

For the immensity of a heart I am grateful
for the ways life can be gentle even when the waters are rough I am blessed

I reach like a flower towards the sun
just as I did the first time I opened my eyes

I have not given up on tying to reach
for the rays of sunshine
and the for a loving tomorrow

I would still love you
set ablaze ten suns with a match
and run after a wild rabbit in the forest even after dark

there, I am sure I would not fear
even the rustling leaves

there they could punish me, bring down the inquisition, accuse at the stake, but I still would find a way to forgive and smile in your direction

I would still love you
sometimes I do not think it good
to feel such things

What’s a maid doing running into the woods after a cow
what’s the earth doing revolving the sun
don’t ask me. Don’t ask me anymore.

I look at the decorative paper with colored illustrations of moths. They’re beautiful–why don’t people write more odes to moths? A moth is free.
The moth just like the butterfly comes to know flight, but when it’s sedentary it rests with its wings open unlike the butterfly. Why don’t we champion how it waits within this state of openness.
How when the moment comes it’ll be closer to readiness.

I look back at the many drawings on that same thin sheet over my desk and I want to cry. I guess I’m staying here a little longer; I will sit and rest like a moth–
preparing until I, too can take to the skies.

I live on this rocking boat that
                            sways forth
and sways back

loosens me up as if  teaching me
how to dance
                          one step forward
two steps back

For the first time I feel uprooted
and I want to cling to the earth
I want to belong to this body

I want to search for my place of belonging
I am done hustling for affection

I want true partnerships
I do not want the fear anymore
the fear of losing you or anyone
because I came too late, was born too late
or said the wrong thing

...
Baby I deserve some real sincere
****, **** me all night, cry with me when I’m not doing well, walk in peace with me,wow lets work together to heal that, you got your life I got mine kinda love

I just want a shot at the real thing
not at illusions or romanticized stuff
I want my place of belonging only if it wants me back
...

I am going back to art and words
into creating expansive landscapes. I have the need to grow me like a lovely cactus in this desert I find myself in.


...

I reach for this very human brokenness to hold it in my arms and nurse it. I reach for the true beauty of life and for the me that can be
...
I close my eyes and see a kind hearted woman, devoted to many things, always learning always growing

I see this body boldly aged and I can my hair long and white
an elder
full of wisdom and my soul light as a feather

I am still here .

I am okay now with all the nights I spent longing for someone
I am okay now with trying to book flights every month only to have them canceled or delayed and spending the whole night crying in my bed until sleep got the better of me
I am okay with having set alarms in the middle of the night
just to try and show up for someone


I am okay with having trusted
I am okay with having pouring everything I could muster into sharing myself
I am okay with being that girl who really wanted to believe


I am okay with having been naive
I am okay with understanding people are just trying to get through thank and that’s okay, too
I am okay knowing that through other eyes I am the villain
I am okay with forgiveness

I am okay with what others may say of me because I followed my conviction till the very end
And I jumped
and now I understand
how wonderful free falling is

I have laid lilies at your door, close your eyes and smell them; there is nothing pretentious about them.

There is no bill enclosed in the greeting card nor needle tucked between  the stems. It has been a gesture of love, simple things that grow
like moss on rocks and pearls in oysters

I have laid them gently, made a horticulturist of myself

I have worn big hats and ventured into my own fields
to snip the loviest of the bunch –and in my basket I always gather for two.

One for my kitchen table and the other one for you

She has escaped us
reached past the bend and cracking of her own bones and left us
stretched out her hands past the copper plumbing of her mind
and made a hug glorious because it came from her
ever present her warmth rings
over this bell of a body that feels
every vibration even in death she rings through me
as does the eyes of her mother
and her mother’s mother
–their eyes have not escaped me
(they ring from the tower that I circle)

beauty is a hinge of words that then becomes a ray passing through the window, glistening bright, the golden bowls over the table are full.

estoy con la almohada en la boca
con el sentimento que escurre
parezco fuente que fluye

You are like the clouds above, like the silence and the laughter
...the birth and the mysterious happenings of a destiny unfurling.
You are the recipient of the ever flowing love that brings my consciousnesses into tangible fruition.

You are a kingdom unto your own. I know, you are the ruler of yours, as I am the ruler of mine. (I do not aspire to control you.)

I am content to gaze upon you and appreciate your plenitude (everything you are),which is as natural as the sky above me.

our bodies stand side by side, fingers intertwined as the sun comes turning dawn into morning. Here earth's mouth exhales
forming cold dewdrops over the pastures of past migrations

our hands cusping wild cosmos stretch past the western highlands
to touch the grammar of coastal basins where central avenue runs down the middle back of Los Angeles

there, too we lift our palms to feed the hummingbirds with our sweet nectars of wild cosmos


Translation to Spanish:

Sueños de tu y yo

Nuestros cuerpos parados de lado a lado
nuestros dedos entrelazados mientras el sol convierte el atardecer en mañana

Aquí la boca de la tierra exhala formando gotas de roció sobre el pasto de migraciones passadas

nuestras manos son flores cúspides
que se extiende más allá de las tierras altas occidentales a tocar gramática de las cuencas costeras donde la avenida Central recorre la parte media de la espalda de Los Ángeles.

Desde allí crecemos flores de cosmos para alimentar a los colibríes
con nuestros dulces néctares
y los colibríes viene y nosotras sonreímos

Get ready lovely being.  It may get rough and there will be some tumbling but your spirit  is strong enough and your heart is kind enough that it will love you consistently through the toughest terrain.

I weep with my little pains huddled
like toddlers around me.  
They were so sweet
in their patience with me, waiting
until I was ready. Now I hold them,
their tiny faces giddy with excitement, as I abandon
the ground of functionality for a wilderness
quiet at their side

Let me never again allow
someone to stand before me
and tell me
“I knew you were suffering but well…”
as they proceed to excuse
not sending an email or
calling back
as they play–
play me
play me a rendition of “ I just stood by because”–

let me be quicker to take
my “alarm setting and special date on the calendar marking” habits elsewhere

let me be like lightening
when it comes to honoring
how devoted a lover I am,
with my deep dives into music archives
and books to fish out gems from the depths
of this wide ocean of archived living, that
we take for granted
as we scroll down or peruse old books, images
of paintings, stereo versions
of songs and psalms
and recorded lectures with
sounds levels so low you really
have to concentrate
and within the relief carving etched into my chest

my own soul
let it speak to me loudly
let my love be bigger, that it can help me smell the sweetest scent, while I wander through the night
that its whiff can walk me downthe path of less sorrow

sometimes nothing, is kinder for everyone

sometimes someone can be trapped in their need to self protect at all cost
believing that this world and it’s rules allows them to set others welfare, others  feelings, real love aside and dub it meaningless

Let me never again take
their blade in my hands, let me walk
away, when I see the glinting of the knife
they hold towards me
even as they smile,

2.
He held a glinting knife, as he smiled
did he know he was holding it,
so close to me
the pain of its point confused
with the pain of heartbreak
when there should of never been pain
not in something as sweet as love

What do you do when too many words clutter your mouth?

When like a small child you are caught with a mouth full of cookies, unable to quickly and cleverly interject.

Sweet dear words of yours, too stuffed into the narrowness of your own mouth
and poking out from the space in between your lips.

Too many thoughts simultaneously obstructing the possibly of eloquence
no baked goods could emerge unbitten and wholesome when spit out at the same time

Go deeply and then you see there is a lot of love
below everything there is love
from the moment you inhale your first conscious breathe to the moment you drift into the subconscious there is love there to hold you

Go find people who will talk to you on a bridge, who will meet you in vulnerability. Who will not leave you in silence under a street lamp. Go surround yourself with those who will ask “what ails you?”
You deserve to find respect in the way someone considers you. Find those who are sure of you, who can see you are a charm not a thorn. Folks who make you feel like you belong; folks that choose you. Do not spend your life crying over those who could not hold you. Forgive them and forgive yourself for asking the naked for a coat. It may be that you were naked, too. Hold nothing against anyone just be on your merry way, see where other roses grow and what spring looks like when winter releases its grip over your heart. You cannot stay in the past, no matter how sweet or how troubling it seems. You are here on this “x”. Take heart and go find people who like you –wish kindness, love and joy for all those around them. Go, go bravely, go quietly into life.

Hoy me e cansado
de alejarme
de no buscarte
de pensar que el no tomar tu mano
significaría no tener que cargarte


Pero mírame aquí, agotada
reconociendo
descubriendo
que te he cargado desde el cuarto de las golondrinas

es por eso que me encuentro exhausta
viendo pájaros volar fuera de mi ventana

I need good soil; no one can do things alone. How strong you are, how bright your light remains depends a lot on the richness of the soil that nourishes you. The less nutrients in it the more you have to compost the more minerals you must add every so often to your life just to get by. And now your adding more and more –without fixing the root of the problem: you need good dirt. Yes gratitude is a fertilizer and does great things  but you need to plant yourself somewhere divine & loving.

I will not tell you what to fear or believe  instead I will show you
what brilliance can stir from the wells of one being when it grazes upon spring and with a sorrowful heart decides that all starting points are good enough starts
and proceeds to slowly walk under the timeless rain nursing  in its belly the desire to not just to live life but live a life of wellness

me listening to Jesse Welles and crying is my new vibe,

crying because i'm sad, crying because I'm moved, crying--

the scent of orange blossoms will guide me and the peel
of a grape may be deemed too thin, but it encloses
the softness of flesh, the outer & inner mesocarp, the sweet dream
of the migrant—
my grandfather over a field, surrounded by his sons
somewhere on the surface was a point of rupture
but I know there was a seed, too

it is spring again, the planting furrows will blur
as some drive past them but I see with clarity
where I am going

Gratitude
a big shower
of appreciation
of the ever constant  
opening and reopening
to the precious
happenings
of this formless intuition
running from the tips of toes
beyond the crown
and into a field of unity