I like how my lips
fit that hollow
by your collar bone

I could sing an anthem there
or whisper sweet
sweet nothings.

when my son was younger
he asked -

how old are the mountains
from where did the First People come
why does the sun sleep in the ocean
what is the color of rain

now that my son is older
stronger, wiser and bolder
he asks -

how old are the mountains...
...what is the color of rain


some things don't change.

i love it when the sun is setting and all the trees turn black
something about the dark outlines are so beautiful and there's nothing i love more
except you
you are the marvelous sunset behind those black trees
filled with hues of pink and orange and purple and yellow and blue all mixed together into one thing that is way to beautiful to even be real
but it is real and all you wanna do is save it and hold on to it forever but you can't
because eventually the sun will set and you will be left with black wishing for all those hues to come back
no memories or pictures could ever really capture it's beauty
that's how i feel about you
you are the sunset behind the black trees but i know you won't last forever so i'm going to admire you for as long as i can
until eventually my whole world turns black

The great thing
is not having
a mind. Feelings:
oh, I have those; they
govern me. I have
a lord in heaven
called the sun, and open
for him, showing him
the fire of my own heart, fire
like his presence.
What could such glory be
if not a heart? Oh my brothers and sisters,
were you like me once, long ago,
before you were human? Did you
permit yourselves
to open once, who would never
open again? Because in truth
I am speaking now
the way you do. I speak
because I am shattered.

She steps into the dark swamp
where the long wait ends.

The secret slippery package
drops to the weeds.

She leans her long neck and tongues it
between breaths slack with exhaustion

and after a while it rises and becomes a creature
like her, but much smaller.

So now there are two. And they walk together
like a dream under the trees.

In early June, at the edge of a field
thick with pink and yellow flowers

I meet them.
I can only stare.

She is the most beautiful woman
I have ever seen.

Her child leaps among the flowers,
the blue of the sky falls over me

like silk, the flowers burn, and I want
to live my life all over again, to begin again,

to be utterly
wild.