The Riches

From the window

as quiet as  as a river I can watch

the moon shiver in the breeze

through the fronds of palm trees.

Hibiscus wave like  children

their mouths move  silently,

hands of garland reach out to

one another.

I am grateful for the sweet

drape of your eyes that like

fluttering wings of birds lift

the shawl of darkness where in

the light  prismatic butterflies

breach their  chrysalis and

vanish in the arching sky.

These are the riches

the golden sunlight passing through us.

While I Was Thinking of You

My words are

flames meant to melt the

frozen chalice that is your heart.

In the  white night across the continents

we feel but never touch

too holy  for the light, we set the night on fire

profanity in an infinite sky too flawed

to alter fate.

While I was  thinking of you a fledgling

fell to earth

swooped up by the wind  on her

passage to life

red head on a bench

God Spun

I am a constellation
pasted to a smear of deep sky or
some god spun leaf drifting
a wintry blue pond or a

flame living in fire.
My tongue turns silvery around
my words, do not take them
for sorrow I have named them
peace.

Do not forget me.
I still need you to carry me
over the pierce of thorns for
My hands are good for nothing

but a plea do not forget me
I am still here my hair a tangle
of stars.

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effigy

She no longer recalls or feels

Freedom is not a concept

The curve of her back is wired

with filament and straw fills

the space that held a heart

Constructed for crows her limbs

are stripped of flesh

her pupils fixed in the dark.

Her lips are strung with suffering

she no longer speaks because

there are no words that

cut deep enough.

Metal woman

Poetry and Tea Roses

I will always disappoint you

my verse is no where near roses

pigment stained and tear smudged

overflowing with sudden downpours

a spiraling monsoon that can

not be held back with the tenderest

sighs.

I tell lies lovingly

each line a litany of devotion

or a buzzed serendipity.

I will fall in love with the sleeved

heart of every poet.

Save me from obscurity, give me a purpose

sugary rose petals or the embryo

of a pearl washed ashore.

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Unraveling

When I miss you

I become so small my body

could fit into the heart of a

sea bird begging salt with

its pulpy tongue.  The scent of

sandalwood remains in a discarded

shirt tossed over a bed post where

I return and return.

The clouds unravel and tears rain

down in shades of eventide.

Keep me close in your heart like

the beating of a rhythmic railway

traveling snow covered alps

or the black tar of far off foothills.

 

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Falling

Wide  walls of

water tumble into deep pools

spilling over slippery quartz.

Grasping at jagged edges

She steps onto the mossy sludge,

sinks into  soggy pockets of

blue-green algae.

Slender fingers  grab at  veiny

pulleys of the  forest yet when

She reaches they resist.

The water is screaming indignation,

a fury thrashing upon stone,

Penance for thwarting

it’s downward path and there is

no way to console them.

Retribution is why She comes here,

a pounding  retaliation,

the sting of needles on her back

stones soothed by wrath.

 

 

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rituals

Waiting for you became a ritual,

listening for the  sound of your footsteps

in the pounding rain.

The  taste of salt still remains

upon my lips where you left it

and in dreams you are evoked

by the wings of seabirds where I have

pressed our memory.

At daybreak the tide  retreats without

leaving you at my shore and it is

there I accept loss.

At the hollow of my throat I have etched

your name  somehow declaring us sacred.

 

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Consolation

Folded beneath white caps

shards of crystals stack in layers.

Seaweed tentacles abandon their grip,

letting go of their bed they are

swept away by the tide snared by sea oats

stranded in the dunes.

A shroud of melon melts down the vista.

Seafaring specters bob in the distance

drifting apparitions that vanish

in the  haze,  lost to the horizon.

Seagulls hover between  sea and sky,

wingtips graze the watery glass,

skimming, plunging,  their throaty caws

console the lonely sea.

 

by the shore