The Woman in the Mirror

is A child that looks out

from eyes that weep diamonds

or liquid fire spills from the curve of her lip

burns trails down her cheeks

those voices inside roll on waves

of ocean-like silence from the pit of her belly

(is that possible?)

cold clouds rain down from some god-forsaken

depth that like the tender touch of heartbreak

pleads come and rest.

Photographer unknown, public domain

Persuasion

Drawn by the pull of possibility

I am at war with resistance

tempted by persuasion and the

dynamic momentum of hands

on taut shoulders

the gravitational press on tangled

knots and willowy limbs that succumb to

a black spell night

your kiss is kindle igniting

the perfect fire

Come dawn I am a periwinkle

at your pillow

tender petals bending to what

is golden.

61 Figurative Paintings By Kazakhstani Artist Andrei Belichenko

art by Andre Belinchenko

Sweet Bird

After you left I jogged  along the shoreline past the carnation houses  along the jetties where scattered surfers waded hoping to catch the last waves.  A haze veiled the shore and vanished in the rain.  Globules of salt encrusted my eyelids and each breath ripped upward from my belly tearing through my lungs. I sank down on the damp sand behind the old seafood restaurant. Unearthly howls carried out across the waves dissolving into the sea.

I want to believe that the ocean is a froth meringue not a murky depth where in heavy boots you wade past that place where you lose your grip and the rush of saltwater fills your eyes and mind but not the air.

Sea gulls swoop and squawk,  perfect black angles against the sky. I open my book by Tennessee Williams whose writing I abhor but the edge of its cover was leaning out as I passed the bookcase, Sweet Bird of Youth.

*So I close my eyes softly
’til I become that part of the wind
that we all long for sometime”

*Stevie Nicks

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.

lament

A young birch sways

like a new-born giraffe

its limbs lean out

over wilted grass

and ocher vines bind

a sightless sentry

whose eyes never flinch

but guard eternal.

The silence of winter

stacks on solitary bones

until May winds stir

the crowns of trees

flush with suspended

birds

powerless to fly on.

art by rick nilson

Indulging Conjecture

Pink sand pulls away
from the glistening shore
melting fondant in the
sticky heat
Minute  ecosystems inhabit
tiny  grottoes in  tide pools
of wet sand
Some days I stroll the coast alone
escaping into secret realms of lovers
where there is no logic but
an aching crush I hold to my breast
a passage between a heart and the
mountains where I left you
Allow me to come undone beneath
tender hands on eggshell
the gentle quake of a sigh upon your
unshaven cheek
Let me   drown in the green river of
your eyes where there
is no threat of war hard silence
or the burden of forgiveness

Just Once More

I’ve  unfastened  knots

expunged cruel disputes

expelled grief to an acceptable level

Hidden sadness behind a wink and smile

cast all  doubts out to sea

We’ve conquered the boundaries of both hemispheres

where we traveled half-blind in the mist

Let me have you hold you adore you once more

and if it  don’t work out then you can tell me goodbye.

Night Music

I Still Feel You

I feel you

at the razor edge of madness

in the fierce break of waves along

the sea line

a half moon fading at dawn

in shifting shadows of endings.

I feel you in the sweet froth

and flow of memory.

In dark eyes that catch mine in

musty corridors of dreams

I see you

in the wild of wolves

the vigil of birds at my midnight window.

I sense you in sacred passages

where like phantoms we are lost.

art by Karol Bak

Karol Bak kneeling

A Thousand Years

cover the sky with your hand

the summit of your palm is the moon.

Your fingers are streams of stardust

sweeping across ancient dunes

or the slender branches of willows

gliding through desert sand

soft and sediment.

Your words sting like bees that linger

thawing like ice on your tongue.

The heart of every woman you have

loved lives inside me

the cracking bones of beating wings

resounding against fixed walls

whispers of moments come and gone.

Recall my eyes as time,

you have lived here a thousand years

The Letter

I left a message for you in a book.
It is like me to mark provocative phrases,
to shake them out in ponderous verses.
Do not read too much in the fallout,
the notes in the border are for nostalgia’s sake.
I dreamt of you again last night
my adversary
whose aura I barely recall.
My suffering is not in knowing what was real
but what was not.

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