I've been trying to talk
to my heart,
lately
not in a "listen to your heart" BS
kind of way

but like
we're almost friends,
pals,
someone I sort of know, who knows not
that
I'm always afraid

sometimes I sit
on my bed,
in the sheets,
and I listen to the naked
words of everything
my heart might want
to say to me
and I try
to start a conver-
sation-
"hey, whatcha up to? Is there something that I
need to know? Why don't you listen to me? Can you not
hear me like
I cannot hear you?"

that there's nothing,
or there's me,
maybe it's just me.

I want to know the secrets
of
knowing when your
soul is talking
and knowing when you're
full of **** and hoping for
an answer just
like me.

I'm afraid that you are
hiding

that you don't mean the things
you say

it's because of a history I have with you
that can't be wiped away

I'm afraid that you are
lonely

that I don't fill your lover's
wounds

that even when I sit with you,
you're in an empty room

I'm afraid that these are parts
we play

that this is all a grand old
stunt

and that I don't love you, nor you love me
and that might be just what I want.

There's a place that I go
back to-
and it's a garden,
filled with flowers

  and it's somewhere in the Northwest
   where the forest moths and stretching firs
wait quietly for showers

it's there
where Monarchs
    gather in
       kaleidoscopes

and my densely swollen shadow
   next to piercing sun
   elopes

There's a place that I go
          back to
where the plague of
  dreams engulfs me

and it's at the end
of a nestled street
  I find a
    fever that exults
me.

By this time, it's been a few years
mulled wine on the stove
and songs of reindeer

And lights in the windows
of homes I held dear,

I wanted to keep you here

I didn't remember the cement stairs
being so widely spaced
apart.
I guess it's been a
month since I've
been back.

The top step that
used to wobble
has been
nailed back
down and
the peeling paint
continues
peeling

My key still fits
in the heavy door
and the lock still takes
a wiggling

and everything looks
like it must have before...

Love never
existed in a room like
this, in this building where
the fresh white paint
smelled lonely

Your belt looks like it
did before
and you put your bag
in the same place
you had asked me to leave you
some of my work- my art-
but empty walls suggest
you threw it
away

everything has changed, and
I hand you my key
and my keychain still
looks the
same.

Knee deep in
Toulousain
brick
where sidewalks
dent and
water collects

and up 6 levels
in Jolimont,
not far from where
everything exists,

Here I am,
knee deep in
thought, and out
towards
the starry night,
the dark is
ever changing

and I can feel the moonlight
flowing,
of course, I feel it stretching
out its
arm to me
to stroke my cheek
in silence
when my thoughts become
too loud

I'm knee deep in the world, baby,
knee deep in the luke warm
end of daylight
where the water
keeps on moving
and trying to
pull me down
to where
everything is gold.

One week ago
already today
when I was the
    sunset and you
were the waves
where day closed
its eyes and
the moon & stars
lifted
My hope lies in
you and my soul,
the Pacific.

It's not one thing
It's not five
It's not something I can
point to on a map
of my wrongdoings and my
rights
The geography of the
darkest places I have
within me
and the landscaped
version that I share and
I've
refined,

I'm sorry

It's not one thing, my love,
It's not five

It's all things all the time.

So I keep having this thought
where I'm standing
at the edge of a cliff
and it's not possible
to fall

It's not the wind,
pushing me up-
or the resistance of my
ankles
pressing my bony heels
into the dirt
to force me back
when my body starts
to go-
teeter off the verge
of change.

it's
the pull of hope.
the soft ribbons of
sunlight that
snake their
way into the dark
and push it out with
gentle fervor-
with aching persistence
and the knowledge of
better days

I keep imagining standing on
the edge of a cliff
and not remembering
what it's like to fear
or be swept away
by love.

For a second I smelled
smoke
the charcoal, burnt ash fog of summer
in
the valley

  in that second,
I felt sunlight
too
that feeling after endless days
of
gray

I've been lasting here
alone
  miles, states, may as well even be
planets far
  from you

Long days
long nights
and long thoughts about
   hot days where we were
together,
and we believed
the

good times
would last
forever

Sometime then
  I can't quite remember when
we threw
trash
     on the bonfire

it looked ugly,
   and we'd scream
    
- throw crab apples at
one
    another

Sometime then,
  when we were tired and
thin,
  tripping on patches &
holes
in the floor

I took your hand
  our socks filled with sand
and laughed like
poverty
didn't
hurt
any
    more

There's singing
out my window
on
rue molière
and I swear it
is a bird
(perhaps)
the sound
of dripping
honey

or the agony
I feel when
I feel your
eyes on mine and
I can only look
away

And air through a pipe is
a bird is
a flower is
(you are)
lavender honey,
and a songbird, all the same.

You're dark blue
and I'm in love
and I don't know how to be
alone
because you're my seatbelt
holding me back on
every ***-holed
road

Life is good
when the sun is
high
and the cities are
old friends

when the night is
cool and the
crickets
sing
and I'm at peace
again

Life is good
when there's no fear
no pain or hole of
loss

and life is good
when it's sanded down
to the raw self behind
the gloss

This morning gives
me bitter cold
that kind of cold
that sleeps in
bones

that does not quit
or leave or cease
down blankets
socks or winter fleece

they
do not rid this
aching chill
not running far
nor sitting still

and so I write
because I can
in hopes that
passion
warms the hands

the thawing blaze
of artistic desire
might be enough to
light my fire.

Where are we when
the world is
falling, darling
(tell me with your wings)
and where is it
you're flying?
This is where we were
born to be, you and me
to carry you
from flight to
freedom
- I'll say it:
I'm willing to change

In these days, we are
kings-
changing shapes
against horizons,
fueling triumphs
with our
failures, nesting birds we
haven't flown in
ages, but our frames
can bear the
weight

I live in the white
light
and you, the shadowed
silhouette of
branches,
it's not news to
me, but I believe
if mirrors can reflect
the sun then I'll fill the
forest floor
with sparkling
confetti and
I'll light you
from beneath

I write because you're out there
living your life of
newspaper print
and fleece
of wind breaking
navy,
blue
and black umbrella
rain

Where you walk from
steel grey
up
stairs and stairs
of
paisly velvet,

you

and you're behind
your desk again
glasses on the bridge of your
nose again
statues folding
against your wall
again
and me peering past
the crack in the
door again

a knock,
and you're mine

for five moments,
you're mine

for Greek
and for Roman
and for Latin,
you're mine.

If only your French
wasn't so good
and I didn't run
like a fox
in the night.

I drew it best like a river once,
calm to violent
wasting so much space, un-hoped for, an unpleasant
surprise, and
never treated like I
was

There was a lot of laughter, dirt, loud voice, loud TV,
smoke filled rooms with
strangers
The power's out, the water's off
high again, sad again
off our meds again
but laughing
again

We're joking. We're troubleshooting.
We're running out of gas, looking for
quarters

We're knee deep in a creek & our
teeth are falling out.
Dogs, rabbits, skinny horses, pins, cows, rust, motors,
cars, and cars, and rain. So much rain.

It always poured until it didn't

Out of all
the things
that have
happened in
this life

untouched books,
dusty corners,
broken shoes,
frostbitten toes

out of all the
candles burnt
to nothing
and the skeletons
of moths
fried by the light

and the
hems ripped on
the bottom of your
jeans
and the blisters
on your hands
because you
worked so hard

out of it all,

all of the
secrets you
never even wrote
inside a book

you never should
have had to go
like you did
fade like you did
decay like you did
and pray, as I did
you never should
have had to end
like you did.

Hey, lilac girl,
girl who sweetly whispered
"here comes spring."
girl falling from the
ash grove, to the creek.
a map to find the faeries,
"here comes spring."
hey, lilac girl.
girl who sees the roses
growing taller,
leaving her
behind.
"hey, you're blocking the sun
from me.
Where is it you're going?"
far from me
sings
lilac girl
fell ill.
fell black and backwards.
hey, the shade of August's rose.
"Wait for me," girl sings.
she cannot catch up to spring.
Can you hear me, August rose?
Hey, Lilac girl.

I came back for you.

Tall thin girls
and Madrid
and burgundy
red
velvet curtains
and candles
that don't go
out
liquor d'amour
liquor d'amour
tall thin
legs
and freckled
red hair
the sun,
it won't go
out
liquor d'amour
liquor d'amour
Every time I
hop the
pond
I drink
liquor d'amour

It's moments like now
where I'm running to
my notebook,
chaotic flight for a pen
because I feel
the morning stir
within me

I love you
and I've never been so sure-
so I have to touch
the tip of a pen
to the plane of a
paper
and let my quiet hands
dance into
literary
song

I love you and I've never been so sure

I could hold my breath
for you,
live underwater-
fresh water-
the rapids
overhead forgetting
I exist
and close my mouth, open my eyes,
let the current push and
pull me

my love,
you're so intoxicating
you're so thrilling
you're so in tune
with everything I am
and long to be

I could jump in
Little River
and I'd still be able
to breathe

I put up the
   tree and my
  little hands
ached-
I'm not old,
I'm hardly twenty-
six

I've worked so
hard
my hands still
can't handle
loneliness
  and sticks.

To feel like crying
wouldn't feel so sad
so hard
and rough

like that cemented road we walk down.

It always took too long
to trollop to the shade

I cannot bear the heat so
you hold up a hand to shelter me.
to block me from the sun.

and
I only remember blackberries
and those little white flowers
that always overgrow the path.

Tell me how you do it,
tell me how you can overgrow
overpower
fade
a rolling path
of memories.

To feel like crying wouldn't be so sad.

Sweet November in
London
and the Christmas
lights are up

and the street
singers are singing
The Little Drummer Boy

I'm looking at the
give, the
take,
the harmony of
here and now
in the underground
and

I want to feel
how London makes me
feel
when Christmas time is
coming
and when joy is
on my mind.

I'm back
in front of my
canvas-
my hand beating
back and forth,
persuaded just
by
tone
there are so many
secrets the
light
hides,
so many
rich
unknowns.

I read once:

to paint is
to love
again

and it must be
true

the endless
incessant
driving
devotion
to make the universe's
plaything:
color

unconditional fondness
to my life partner,
color

I'm back in front of my
canvas
and I'm creating
love in hue.

Love is dark
floral dresses
cut into skirts
for your daughters

Love is
borrowing tables
for children to
eat their
lunch and carve their
initials

It's writing her
letters when
she's lonely
in Spain

and it's
putting chapstick
on your sore
dry lips
when you can
no longer
move your hands

it's holding
onto the cold
steel bar
and hanging a
dreamcatcher
above your
hospital bed.

Oh Becca,
what have you done?
13 years have passed
and you are thin

your sunken
cheeks
a rotten peach
where Texas daisies
used to grow

a decade has past
and your demons
can't stop talking

that you're in the bathroom
again
you're flying so high on the tiles
again
dreaming of love you were
never given
again
(I know
your father
kicked you out and that
your mother never told you
that she cared)

And I know what he did to you.
And I know that it broke you
and that you can't find a way
to cope with the pain
of thinking love wasn't for you

Oh Becca,
love is for you.

A cold hand that pulls
back fast and lifts
high
or grabs your little
porcelain-doll wrist
   maybe to
break it
   a hand with snakey fingers
who
will crawl under sheets
of little flowers
  and hide in fields
    it should not
   It's always quiet like
serpents
and it's always what
love is not.

So today's the
day where I've
decided to love
you
where I've bought
a moleskin
book, in pink
subdued
peony
hues
and

Today's the day
where I'm writing
to you;
and,
you
don't
even
know

And a year from now,
when you're all
alone
and maybe,

I'm alone too,

you can rest
at peace

& my love letters
will find their way
to you.

What would you say
  if I told you the earth spun [it spins] for you
  And where could we have been today
  if I hadn't said the stars shine [that they only shine] for you.
  Could we have been everything [for everything is nothing when I'm nothing to you]
  Could we have been loving [for loving means something, when I'm loving you]
  You're the oxygen in me
  how can I say I don't need you
  when I need you
  [just to breathe]
  How would you react
  If I told you the grass grew [it grows] to be closer to you
  and where would we be at
  if I hadn't said the flowers bloom [that they only bloom] for you.
  Would we be kissing [for each kiss I've missed is a way to your heart]
  Would we be forever [for forever is empty 'cause you've torn me apart]
  You've walked the road with me
  how can I say I'm strong here
  When without you
  [I'm so weak]
  Talk to me, do.
  walk with me, through.
  Tell me that you need me or that I mean something to you.
  Just...
  love me.
  love me.

There are so many
lovers walking
the streets

arms over waists and
legs all in sync

where she's holding her books
and he's touching her hair
and the way that their eyes
glow;
they're so unaware

there are so many love-
songs
that live with the sea

they're pushing
they're pulling
they're singing to me

and so many lovers
here,
defying the blues

I'd have a lover
if I only loved
you.

You have returned here again
for the second time
I love you and I'm speechless.

So what is love
when a song comes,

flutters from the neck
of your wrist,
that dainty wrist which

sang to me
a lullaby,

and fell asleep

a moment in your arms

softly sings the carriage called

your love.

I know
I'm not the
"best"
that you could
find,

but all I
wanted
to do was
love you.

I've been loving you so
long
now it seems
and I do not tire
of one chord, one stroke
one stream of earth
or gravel beneath you.

I've been loving you awhile now
loving your shapes
the lines of your silhouette.
And I bet,

this will not cease so soon as young loves
often do.

I've been loving you steadily now, how
since the day my eyes saw you
and felt the wind [first touched you] blow towards me.

the moment I couldn't catch my breath
when I fell within you.
I've been loving you so long now
[it certainly seems]

and it seems like time
can't measure us
[contain us]
limit us
at all.

I've been loving you so long now.

I'm thinking about next year.
I'm thinking about you leaving.
I'm thinking about
how much I
want to tell you
that
I want
to go
with
you

How much I
hope that
you'll ask
me to
come

& I
want to
tell you
that
I love
you

(I'm fairly certain that
I love you)

I've been thinking
be it Maine or Indiana,
I'd go anywhere
with you.

I wish I didn't want you so

but every time I see a sculpture (I can't
help but think of you)
and your silver eyes
your glassy, silver eyes
that penetrate my soul and
make my knees go weak
and heavy like I'm
wading through weighted water
and trudging, moving forward, current pushing back
it's all the same.

It's all the same in how I am impaled through the chest
with your brilliance
and your soft demeanor
and there are so many hidden places of you
behind so many walls
of which I know nothing.
I know nothing of you at all.

And I am sure I love you.
I am sure I love everything about you that
you have ever done and found
and all of those mysteries veiled
behind the mask you wear for me.
In this dimly lit room I know I
love you so

I've done terrible things
like drive away
from
you in the rain
within my
rear-view mirror

like keep a
cauldron
of secrets brewing
within my
hard-shelled soul
where I do not exist

like leaving in the night
and hoping that you'd
leave me soon
that you'd be there soon
maybe that I'd love you soon

I've done wonderful things
like hold
her hand
to guide her to
her
India

To her private place of peace
where orange and
cinnamon veil gutted
battle wounds

like staying in the night
and hoping that she'd
leave me soon
one way ticket to
India soon
where I would love her
to the moon

Oh, these are wonderful things.

If you asked me before,
I'd swear that love was
not for me
that a feeling
so soft did
not exist within
me
and that holding a gaze
was only for show

I've read a lot of books now,
and I've had a lot of
lovers-
and I've asked fortune
tellers for my
feelings I don't know,
sleeping so stilly within me

-would not wake
to the slightest or the sharpest
touch of a hand, and I've had
both-

I've had
10,000 miles and
too much coffee.
Pursuing and
withdrawing.

And after all this time
in the self's purgatory
I find you
and you dig into
my skin and pull
the tenderness out
of me like picking flowers
from the quietest
of meadows

I've seen a lot of things
and dreamed a lot of dreams
and finally after seeking,
you pluck and uncover me.