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.
Scattered and exposed
beneath the rolling waves
I am sand surrendering to
the pull of the rolling tide
with no where to hide the
towering waves sweep me
up into the mouth of the beast
who is too weak to hold me
and I am swallowed by the sea.
You are the seawall
a granite buffer between
land and ocean
Hardened with obligation
you stand your ground
when lightning strikes and
breakers crash you do not
In your stony silence you
are not afraid and that is
the disparity in you and I.
Pristine as the south seas
Those eyes of blue green
An angel without wings
I sent you a message
did it drift out to sea
I’ m watching I’m waiting
On the other side
send me a sign
This morning I threw wide
that carved door of souvenirs.
The scent of sandal wood
filled the air and missing
you was a stone bruise.
Tonight I will walk down
to the shore, that galaxy
of pearls and tumbling waves
of frothy champagne.
The mangroves are filled with
flickers and blooms and the
sky glimmers with silvery mirth.
I could stay here until Spring among
the honey cake dunes and not think
of you at all.