So,

(You shouldn't start a poem
with so)
but who cares?
So what?

You died on a Monday
and I felt
like I did too,

so that's everything
that life is.

There's a lump
in my throat
from swallowing
rivers of silver
rivers of metallic
frost
and nocturnes

shattered glass
in pebbled streets
where mirrors mean nothing
and you're always looking
outwards

There's a lump in my throat
from holding onto
love that does
not exist
anywhere within
my dimension or
the next

Where your touch is so far
lost, a
sunken ship,

a river flowing past
another "tell tale"
heart

where you've been
washed away,
swept away,
called away
by the waves of
nothingness.

you're so far gone.

Some people are
the poets
who fall in love
with every shadow
on the wall
and every flicker
of a tiny
burning
flare

Some people are
the poets
who drink coffee
dark as pitch
and they press
their candied lips
against the
armor of a pen
who translates
tales

And some people are
the sparks
the light against
the ocean
the little bit of air
that blows the flame
into existence
when I blow it
out again
because I always
blow it out again
and need
the gesture
of
your soul
to light the
fire that
raves in
me.

There's a time when song
tells me

and there's the time I let
her be

And then there's the time
I am
begging
for her to come and
speak to me.

I can't believe the
sun is still shining
after a winter of grey

and that love still
exists in a world like this
that I lost it all this way


I can't believe that you
fell so ill; that you died
and I left France

I can't believe I'm still
writing on this and
how long that sorrow lasts.

So the fireworks went
off anyway
and there was still yelling in the street

and the ball still dropped
and the night went on.

Firecrackers still went
off without you

without your kiss
and touch
and that weak feeling
in my knees
and gut

and time is going on
anyway
it's moving ahead and
it's harder to hear
your voice in my head

So,
the fireworks went
off anyway.

Before I start my
soul search
I have to tell you
that this self
hunt starts
with you
where inside your
eyes
a lullaby, a
cypress,
reflecting in the moon.
Douse me in your
moon glow
where I can drink your blazing
calm
where I'm floating in your
darkest sky
I've been yours all along.
Before I start my
soul search
and before the
sea foam holds the shores
I'm telling you
I know your soul
because mine's always
lived in yours

People've always
called me a
bird,
but I don't sing
for song's sake
or inspire

I go south
for the
summer, predictably
human
   and instinctively
drawn to
fire

One day when
all your summers are
gone
and the heat of
lover's joy
subsides

you'll think of me
in every winter
drink
you pour
your bourbon and your
poison
lemon slice

And you'll wonder
if I think of you
and where it is
my sparrow heart
flew

but you won't find
a piece of me in
anyone
because I know that
I'll have
gotten over
you.

A spider crawled out of my
sheets
last night.
I couldn't stop watching it
run.
watching it scurry
The chase of time.

feel the chase of time.

when did I get old?
i know i am too old.
I know that I'm too old
to yell
"Dad! I see a spider!"
I couldn't stop watching it

run.

So this is the requiem of
comfort
part II of
my play
it's the funeral of
ease and rest and stagnant
lazy
days

It's the eye of the hurricane
and I'm afraid of
the other side
of falling so
deep in dark grey rain
I can't be roused from
where I hide

this is the finale
the grandiose hurrah
where I am
leaving one life
to storm with
everything you are

theatre or hurricane
applause or nature's rage
you're act three,
act four,
act five, my love
you're the
endless
stage.

Where there is a
dream, living in
settled glass,
(the kind you find in an
abbey
in an alley of
sinners & saints)
    where there is always a small
bird with her
"I trust you" wings in a
nest where she rests
assured

among chorales and
readings and phrases as
  inevitable as forget-me-nots-
where red meets blue
with the welding of
gold
and prayers are a
hatchlings
   lullaby

I've heard of people
praying
   for
everything,
but not even
    birds
      answering
       their
            cry.

If I were not
me,
I think I'd be a
stained glass window

I saw a picture today
in a magazine
of a reflection, but also a shadow- an echo of
all of this window's
color on the
altar of a church and
God
if I could exist in a way that I could
see
myself and
allow myself to
fade away, into oblivion- an illusion
of all that I am, laid on the floor of a church-
I'd be a stained glass window

When I knock on Death's door,
I'll bring a bottle of wine
and I'll be sunburnt and flushed

I'll arrive in a Hot Rod,
engine revving,
dressed in a cloud of exhaust

I'll arrive when the sun is setting
and the air's still thick and hot
and seeping
with summer

and I'll be laughing like
it's the Curtain Call and
I've received a
standing ovation

When I knock on Death's door
I'll rap five times
I'll take a deep breath
I'll rub my love-drunk eyes
and
when the door opens,
I'll be the perfect guest
and thank Death for the
invitation.

It's funny that
hands are the
soul's translators-

always moving in ways
to export internal data
into life's shared existence

To fill up space with
the physicality of
ideas and thoughts-
create waves of
deep-body
ocean dreams

here, now, hands click-clacking
to translate a piece of my
well-versed, English-taught,
trying-to-behave-and-get-it-right-
find-its-place­
soul

Look at these little
starfish translators
always trying
to fabricate all that
I am and
know

it's curious to have such
sweet translators of the
soul

It hurt so much
when you first
said that you don't
love me

and now the
pang of rejection,
the sound of dismissal,
the so-far-from-fleeting-feeling of
refusal's
like a
healing wound that's on
my skin.

You can't stop me.

You can't stop me from
loving you with the
insatiable craving for
all that you are,
the undefinable hope
when you've said that
there's none

but after time,
after an October of
not hearing your voice,
unanswered love sleeps
so quietly within
me,
gently in me,
where for a moment,
the burn is just a
silent cinder
who glows
without
completely
fading
  away

I'm letting it kindle,
kindle in me
and
when you realize you
love me, let
this steady ember guide
you home.

Long before the sting
of routine
came
the poison
bite of reject
bled into my veins
and killed me in 1000
ways,
every fang
and I wasn't ready for
a snap like this
dropped like this
turned up like this
this was our house
before Medusa came
and your snake eyes
took the night.

What's so
**** about a
cigarette hanging
out of your mouth
and
an old Russian
book,
a line of
tiny sculptures
Greek and Roman
myths portrayed
in stone?

What's so
thrilling about your
old raincoat
your umbrella stand
the plaid,
    the plaid
the sheets
of all the papers
that you wrote
about Athena
and Mykonos

I can't take any more
stone and plaid

Deep in
the walls
of a
church in
Strasbourg
hides the
stones who
saw me fall

if I could be
a queen
a saint
I'd choose
the fly
on the wall

to see you with
a glass in
hand
swirling
crimson
wine

and watch you
walk the snow-
capped
streets
&
imagine you
were mine.

If I lie here
drenched in
silence
and I see your
chest
rise and fall
in candied
fulfillment
I'll be able to sleep
at night
because my silver tongue
seduced again
evolved into
a siren who can
talk you
straight to ardor.

If I lie here,
soaked in ivory silence,
dripping in your
yearning quiet
a honeyed
aftertaste
to you
then
my chest will rise and
fall and I
will
finally
experience
what it is
to love
and surrender to it
all

I see your sunburned
knees
your sunburned shoulders
your skin
[it is too smooth]
it's rough.
And you always
smile
at lavender.
And now,
I curse the lavender.
I curse the hills and valleys
flooded with wild flowers.
and every soft sound
I cannot stand to hear
You burned your knees.
Your skin
[it is too smooth]

Here's you
with your Sunday eyes
violet shadows
pooling in the arches
and the dips
dancing across
your cheekbone
the way I want to
You are every
pink rose
beach agate
white feather
which a
child finds

Here's you and
those gorgeous
Sunday eyes.

Dreamy veils
  or orange
in which i
spot the sun-waves
through-
a spider web i
sometimes see
when i slant
my head

I'm aware that
silence is golden
  and there's nothing
   quieter than the sun
from
     where I stand

Like a flower I will
  tilt my neck
    to touch the sky
     and blindly
  shadow
light.

The sun makes
all the
girls
beautiful

tan
freckled
sunglasses
smiling

but I
stand back in
the shade
and long

for days where
the sun doesn't make me
sick anymore

sweat
sweat
sweat
I'm fainting.

I love
the thought of
being yours

of bare feet on white ships
and your arm around my shoulder

(oh how it dances
how the sun dances on the
milky shore)

your whisper in my ear
to a soul who has been
waiting all these years

(oh how it thunders
how the waves thunder on
the shore)

and how I want to be like
sunlight where
you're always reaching
and I'm
never far behind

I walked into
the concert
hall
and saw you
on the
stage, a glow
of amber
light filling
up the night- a
sparkling fleck of
gold in
the river
path of
life

There you were,
such home to
me
such a wonted
sense
to me
a quiet type of
thrill that's like the
hatching
of an egg or the
stirring of a bird
making her way
through
Autumn's leaves
to ride with
dawn

There you were
on stage,
immersed in
October's Sandaraca
and I thought
you were,
I think,
you are,
I hope
you are
at home with me and
every sunset's
encore.

I fell into the coral reef
and felt like I could breathe
again
and saw a boat above my head

it sailed,
sailed away

and beneath the glowing
blue of day
and the waves that live
only on the surface
a shadow so deep
I could walk into it and
lose myself
and lose my hands and my feet
and every surface
you only knew
of me.

where I can't see the end and the beginning
and sight has no bounds.

I fell into the coral reef
and felt like I could live
again
and saw a ship wreck down below

rotting,
rotting away

and inside the decaying
bright as day
an ocean flower and a
broken heart I plucked
so safely in my hands
and I could walk into it,

lose myself,

and lose my memories and guilt
and every depth
you ever knew
of me.

The sky is every
shade of grey since
I've been loving you

it's gorgeous and it's
moody
and it's every
way I see
you too

the wind blows in
sheets of frost
where the world is
dressed in snow

& you're behind
a winter's birch
a silver bark
a peak of sunset glow

how long I've loved the
thought of you,
the cello's neck
and song

a hymn as soft
as nightfall comes
and gently turns to
dawn.

There's nothing
in this moment
but the memory of
you
swinging your legs over the bed.

A dream
of linens
with roses
& checkered
cloth on the
kitchen windows.
and your bent knees
swinging over the mattress
dangling over dancing shadows
on
the floors [are
so **** cold in the morning]

But in that moment
[the one before
your toes touch the floor]
[before the frozen death of morning
slaps you
wide awake]
I will watch your
legs swing over the bed

they swing
and swing
they swing and swing
away from me.

I want to take you
with me,
but I know
you don't
belong there

when your hands
are speaking out
their silent words
of dreaming a-
bout
stages where
the burning
lights are
melting
fear
away

it's
calling you

like no one else exists
because
your hands
nothing else exists
and
so
I can't
take you with me

while the music's
taking you

I'm melting
into tangerine
thoughts,
floating
in a pool
of orange

a pool of lemon
zest and peel

that comes to
sting
when I pry
open
my eyes

Tangerine thoughts
that look so sweet
so sincere
the bump-de-dump-de-dump
of textured life

where you can run your
finger on the goosebump
skin
and feel only
a fruit
and I can wrap my
soul around
and know that
I'm it too.

A time has come
for
   love me,
tender

as I'm walking
down the
stairs
and the
edge of my heel
touches the
pavement
in a whisper.

I try not to
talk too
loud,
because I'm scared
I won't remember
all I've
said

a time has come for
love me,
  tender
and
  to
talk more.

it just seems like
you've been sweet to me
lately

like those little purple flowers
(weeds)
covered in dew

******* the nectar out
like a hummingbird
(how my heart flutters
when you call me sweetheart,
baby,
it's only words
but they're moving)

words
that are so sweet
to me.

I exist in
moments like
these
where I'm in
your arms
and the windows are
open to
birdsong and
chickens
and quiet, humid
April breezes turn the
posters on the wall-

It's ten minutes before
the alarm goes off
and we go our
separate
ways.

There you are
like always

around every
corner,
in every
country

I've seen you walk up stairs in
Italy
and through
crowded parks in
France
where the lights
of the carousel
are dancing
and the shadows
of horses
are running
free

Oh,
my dear
you're not alone
and neither am I
as dusk is
opening

Oh,
my love,
you are loved,
and dusk,
she knows your
beauty

and here,
like always,
around every
corner,
in every
country,
I know it too

And here
is where I
fall into
the arms of dusk.

Every time I
fall in
love,
I think I've never
been in
love before
because
I
haven't

Love is not
one word,
one sense,
overall meaning
or
interpretation:

Love is this-

it's every
individual
and everything
you are.
It's a stirring of
hatchlings who have
discovered their
wings so to
romance every
yearning tree in the
woods
again and again
devotedly
flying into
love because wings are meant to
carry
bodies into the arms
of stars

I haven't got sense.
No sense for you.
In coming and leaving.
in exchanges
the norms.
social behaviors.
I play dumb.

While I want you touch me.
Why do I want you to
touch
me?

I plan the
subtle bend of
my waist
[where's your glance?]
i wait
like the kind of wait
that never stops.

You're the end of my wait
that never stops.

You're so beautiful.

and I'm so fragile.
I'm so cracked
and old
and vulnerable.

I watch the bend of your glance
the corner of your eye.

I watch your wrist
bend
as it waves goodbye.

I haven't got sense at all.

There are dreams
within me
softly humming
never silencing
their songs
that feel like
the space between
the stars
effervescently
burning

I remember when you told me
that
the universe is me.
That I am every
hopeful thought
and your dream's
melody

and I replied that you were
all the wild
flowers
in every
meadow
and every bright side of the moon
and the darker cast in shadow

There are dreams within me
softly humming
and their whisper never fades
out of all the things
you've roused in me
this song takes
the cake

I had a dream
in French
and black and
white

a dream where you
were in America
en fin
and I was high on
Crater Lake

I had a dream
where your skin
survived
it did survive
the coldest blow
the ash
the snow
in the Caldera's dance

where sheets
of violet
embers and
clothes
hanging on the line
blew in rhythm
to my French
two-step
and my ombre
shades of time

I had a dream that you
were here
and that you
never died.

I remember
running across fields
with my arms out
like a plane
and leaping over
rocks,
or stumbling,
a fall.
I remember
singing across meadows
with my arms out
like a bird
and looking at
you nod
your head with
me as you
poke a stick into
the ground.

And that pink line

is in the sky again.
and there are

splinters in my hands.

and all I want to do is dig in dirt with you
again.

I'd run across all of the acres of the Callahans to be with you again.

She's upstairs and
I'm in the chapel because
someone said we could
Burn a candle

And I touched
The holy water in the
Silver dish, worn from
Hands with prayers
For the dying
And the
Living
And those
Somewhere in between

And you asked me
How to make the cross
while i stared at
The flickering flame
And you wanted me
To say a prayer
And I wanted to escape

She is dying
In white sheets
Upstairs
And
You don't know what to say
I just want her to fall
Asleep

And for it all to go away.