Handing out wings

like they were portions of God

this narrow asphalt

made by architects of tourism

movers of time and space

reaching out like insane astronauts or genius heretics

breathing our iodine

becoming halogens

the sky moves sideways

dystrophic airwaves

feeble beacons

eerie radio silence

here come more perils from the sky

In the palm of my hand
Perfection
The stone I stole
From your beach
Forgiving me
For taking it away
From the sand
That cradled it, the sun
That warmed it
The waves that washed
Over it
For thousands of years,
The sublime smoothness
Of its soul,
Not striving to be
A moon or stars
It just IS
Already part of
The grand order
Complete in the universe
In the oneness I yearn for.

Oh, shrill lark, just breathe. You rage too well.
Seek no comfort in wretchedness.

Renounce the gossamer moon, curse starlight
with a breathless voice - if you must - but let love be.

As the saddest tale fades after telling,
undistinguishable kisses fade like dewdrops.

Seasons alter, you will love again and love better
laughing unabashed, at the memory of this gentle injury.