you touched me
and for a moment
i wasn’t flesh
i was light.
i was breath
before the lungs
a name
before it was spoken.

not love
not lust
something holier
like the quiet
between two prayers
that still
find each other.

I take a peso
in a wallet
And toss it
in the well
I whisper slowly
in the side of
and wish a night with you,
instead

So i,
I seek the crowd,
youre standing.
You turn around,
i was hiding,
barely breathing
evaporating,
gasping,
left on oxygen

and so i think
of breaking the glass
and break my silence
But i dont want
you to notice me
Of violence

and so,
I gasp again
and walk away

So im writing to you
Instead,
Knowing this was just
a methaphor
of how badly
I want to reach out
and talk to you

Again.

To My Anam Cara:

I’ve walked the greens this morning,  
butterflies whipping through the air,  
a slight breeze gently kissing my hair.  

Thanking the tree, hoping you’d see  
what I see—  
sensing, feeding love, fleeting  
yet amplified across space and time.  

Tree-lined garden view through the picture window,  
golden retriever at my side,  
Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos encouraging the plants to prosper.  

Holding you sacred in the siempre and the now,  
sending notes of love and longing—  
may they catch your ear,  
touch your heart,  
and confirm that I am here,  
there,  
and everywhere with you.

To wait for the metro
is boring, tedious and cold.
It feels meaningless.
Or is it
a quiet moment
in the busy everyday life
where nothing is required of you
and you can just be?
Enjoy this pause.
To wait for the metro
is to live life now.

I stay present
but in reality, I am many
miles and many years
behind us. I am taller
and straighter, I have less pain
and fewer regrets.

I stay present
and take pleasure wherever
it is offered. I stand, and I pray.
I offer
- no-that's-not-true,
I don't offer. I give freely -
my praise. And it is given
with all honesty, truly.

I stay present
as He is present, but
just as He is timeless
so a part of me slips
into the past
and the better part leans
into the not-quite-yet.

I am present.
For now.

"Real?"
"Sure, why not?"

No
purpose.
Just
stillness.

(presence...)

Drowning in it with you —
no air,
no need,
no expectations.
Just there.

Some questions
don’t
need
answers.

(just presence...)

As the last of the flowers have withered,
And the guests have washed their clothes,
The cemetery has new bodies to entomb,
I still feel your presence very close.

For every waking morning without you on our side,
Demands a tough facade for every new dawn,
With responsibilities piling our plates,
I still hear your voice guiding us on.

At times where people have seem to forget,
And your space at the table has been quietly replaced,
Things and clothes packed neatly into boxes,
I still recall the warmth of your embrace.

For the world that we know will continue to revolve,
With the sun, the moon, and its skies ever so blue,
Your memory lives on in every piece of me;
I will choose to remember every last piece of you.

As you entered the room
stirring air with suppleness of walk
waking up the stillness with jingles of cymbals
making curtains dance to the sound of bangles
aroma wafted into air from canvas and copybooks
my paintbrush grew restless
and pen became enraptured
my eyes, hands and other parts
became electrified.

My heart spread rainbow in the room
like colours of youth and
lilts of life's melodies.

You who are sitting before me
have the power to
change my consciousness
into painting, poem, melody
or anything else!

I know you'll speak no truth at this time.
I've to be guided
solely by your silence, your eyes and
the inaudible appeals of your heart.

I've to settle before I lose the presence of mind-
whether I should use brush or pen
or my eyes, hands or something else
and create a unique
composition
all in you.

-०-