In the moonlight a shimmer
of anemone flowers wash ashore
settling among pearls of sand.
Gossamer beams spill down
where there is no need for words below
a sky of muted stars driven to be near
We are the sigh of winds
Echoing over high cliffs cascading from from murky walls of caves and back again
Tethered to nothing we are
free of burden, golden sand enticing the
current through ancient reefs,
released forever back to the sea.
Coral Reef from Google
What the night birds
sing when dreaming
I can translate to you as though
I were another San Francesco.
They sing this: open your heart
like the blossom of a Ditch Lily
kissing the warm night
in the dark light.
Let the Pegasus of your most
daring fantasies fly high.
That’s what they sing
in this sweet night.
In the shadows of a rundown bar
she breathes cigars and Cuba Libre.
A Spanish guitar plays Guananey
as she swallows the night
in a sunflower dress with no shoes.
She longs for her homeland
and the impossible dream of
” Havana ” Roman Virdi
We begin making things up by six or seven,
minds of hummingbirds we sip from illusion.
If you desire we will take you with us
to the eddy of an ever prodding muse
where we dip our wings in her breathtaking colors.
Some mornings I Leave as though I am going to work. Instead I walk downtown and meld with the chaotic masses, look into eyes that are infused with survival, relentless whispers fade into the crowd, leaving the scent of pungent cologne and café cubano. The sights and and smell imprint the back of my eyes and cling to my nostrils.
I bring a flower for you from the garden, eat an apple that reminds me of an autumn orchard and a love struck boy whose memory makes me rub against you in search of that emotional trigger, the wild place in my mind that is precious only if it is gone. At night I stay awake after you go. I can’t write where we make love, not just to annoy you. When I write myself empty with meaningless devastation then I may sleep. Even I know I’m crazy because it all makes sense.
Winter does not empathize
with withered branches
or displaced birds fleeing waves of
of frozen breath.
Her howling wind is a laugh out loud and
she hasn’t the grace to cover
A tease of holly and evergreen
flicker at the curve of billowed thighs.
Glistening folds of hallowed mounds
drift in other worldly sighs
ensnared in her exquisite binds.
I could convince you
that the world is
ambrosia for deities
dropped on our tongues
in syrupy slices while
we linger immortal
in Aristophanes’ veil
My lips are the arc of
a butterfly dripping thick
and golden adventures into your
As light as feathered birds
we resist the pull of gravity,
succumb to ruby filaments
where the only peril is a
paradise that may consume us.
You are more rare than
a bird of paradise.
Let me leave my mark
upon your feathers
soft as eider down.
On a widespread river
amid the perfume of damp flowers
sing to me a mock sinner’s lullaby
in return I offer you pearls
and the hollow at my throat.
Above a field of wildflowers
the clouds pass by
angels without halos
to weigh them down