Love, if it were told how little truth you hold,
How diadems and stars are less than twinkling souls,
How anyone can fill your mercurial fancy in the fold,
How you lie before God and you lie with man,
Love, books are less old than your falsehoods,
Or the rood and the rose.

darkness wraps around me
inside a sonnet
singing, echoeing across the lake
i hear it ,too
inside a moan, sweet and sad
from
eons ago
primordial      
communication
we are one.

she serves silence,
it lies on the tongue
like ash.
her quiet cuts
jagged,
tears the hem of my heart
I unravel,
and she throws my words away
with burnt-black peppers.

sandwiched in your laughs,
sunlight of a thousand crisp mornings,
not one bit contaminated by the night

you've grown soft as you pick
out your words, dusting off the edges
marshmallow bite sized

soft fists, air punches, trimming down
your claws, diving down into safe
snowy white pages, and now

i can no longer explain to you
how my pain is not your pain
and how your pain is not mine

care to listen, all my
pauses and blank spaces are intended
my reluctance habitual

shield the moon from my thoughts

I thread ever so carefully
Every strand of you
Weaved into the fabric of my being
Under tension was picture perfection
But don't look at the knotted bottom

you burned like a star
they whispered,
terror and awe laced in their words

you burned so suddenly, so bright
everyone but the sun had to look away
the sun stared down as
the burning boy fell underneath the water-
blue hands reaching up to catch him.

stars burn out too fast
they speak,
indifference and pity colour their words.