Comes the days when we
reach back into seas of
pinpoint diamonds where like
globes of fire we spun through
glimmering heavens yielding
only to the pull of hearts.
Now the dew falls from our eyes
Not from the sky, the tide pulls
outward and mountains lose
their foothold but a new sun
is rising and we are touched by
the tongue of deepening wisdom
and burning indignation.
I watched him stride down the boardwalk, sit down beside me to people watch pale tourists glowing in the sun. My eyes caught the light that shown through his lips and his elegant hands lifting and dropping like majestic birds. In the long shadows of dusk there are questions in need of soft answers, sunsets slipping down the horizon like hands over sun warmed thighs. He is a sweet breeze through a tropical garden but the sea is enough for me. It’s salty breeze lifting my chin.
Art by Steve Hanks
On sleepless nights
I stroll the left bank in black sequined heels
My Eyelids heavy with smoky glitter.
Among the art I find you
your essence pierces my veins
settles in the pool of my heart
soft lights flicker their last warning in the sad cafe where
like willows we sway to long forgotten love songs
then you are gone a Modigliani reclining never hearing
Je t’aime the only French I know.
Mark Spain Art
“Je t’aime, Je t’aime
Comme un fou, comme un soldat
Comme une star de cinéma
Je t’aime, je t’aime
Comme un loup, comme un roi
Comme un homme que je ne suis pas
Tu vois, je t’aime comme ça”
You with the unruly hair
enticing prey with that
They bore you but the game is
the thing and the road that you
travel howls with the Blue’s train.
You navigate your map of uncharted
pleasures and who could not love you
for dreaming a bold universe beyond
this pale world?
At night You lie down on a river of stars
among drifting shadows of wild things
you are not really tame.
You are getting closer.
I hear the crunch of sand
and the skitter of stones beneath your
boots. The scent of tanned leather stings
my nostrils and fingers of steel butterflies
inflict fresh flesh wounds.
Your feathered crop gently brushes my shivering
shoulders, it floats over proud bones luring me
to the killing fields.
With no where to hide nothing can save me.
You have always known how to break wild horses.
I can scarcely bear the splendor of the world.
It’s wonder humbles the wisp that is me.
Minutiae of eyes and speechless tongue
astounded by the promise of a sunrise.
Elegant trees lift their mottled arms
flecked with leaves of gold and green
an ancient cache of living things
To be a winged bearer of no possessions
a flicker of color in the highest tree.
I feel you in the pouring rain
violent or soft as a summer storm.
A distant star you appear only to fade
into the night from which you came.
Decaying gardenias fill my room with mortality
a treacly specter of memories.
Wounded hearts are slow to heal
I have become indifferent to pain.
We are a wasteland, all poetic breath died with us.
I long for the scent of earth infused with deep roots
the soothing sounds of chimes swaying from the
limb of a live oak, soothing sounds for the twilight hours.