Blasphemy

Browsing  my  journals

I am reminded of the past.

The door  swings open

releasing sleek eels of memories

where I am nothing or at best

a trembling leaf  caught in a spring  breeze.

Do you ever think of me

find  me in constellations pressed against the sky

or hear me in the sigh of  an incoming tide?

I would seek comfort in the moon but I am

so trivial and he is taken by the stars.

In dreams my tongue is a crimson snake that

flicks  hungrily along  the length of your thigh

curling around the catch in my throat.

You are god and have  named me regret.

I close our door with pried fingers.

I’ve given up on prayer hands.

 

Dove Mouth

 

 

Art by Rita Hardy

Windscape

Let me be the  summer sun
who shines for you without expectation.
A  rhythmic  breeze that shapes soft
passages where you travel uncertainty.
Let a  herald of archangels fill your
your heart with unworldly treasure.
I will be  your blood moon,
the swell and pull of tides  that
draw you near.
Ascend with me on a windscape
strung of stars  far from
the world below.