or so i was told

to the one i find when i rip all the layers, to the one who gave breathing a new purpose and taste, to the one who modified my perspective i say..... .... .... .... ..... .... Hi

when god takes a nap, i steal a kiss. your salty tear. seals our lips, seals our bliss, god wakes up, smiles and says "i'm not surprised" turns his cheek and goes back to sleep

bed body

i can stand
on my own two feet
but sleeping is
a different story

took me years to find the peace
of mind and ease
of self to rest on my back,
nap with my arms above my head,

but to deep sleep i must
return to my stomach, limbs coiled
beneath my body, torso a bit
contorted, neck arched to pillow,
blood clotted in my joints,
safely, peacefully distorted.

cotton candy soup

i talked to god
she said she would do her best to find our family
between This World and the Not Yet
no promises, though, these things are tricky
i said i appreciated her effort and honesty

anticip-

the clouds say you're coming

but the wind changed direction and that indicates an unknown variable

four out of nine leaves on my tree are leaning towards the door - perhaps they know something i don't

three boxes of animal crackers say i was expecting you
the wrinkles in my sheets feign indifference - "we don't care, either way"

the forty-five thousand thoughts that crossed my mind on the elevator
between the second and third floors suggest
that i care about you, and whether or not you
show up

the nonchalant fork left dirty in the sink is my method of
convincing myself that it doesn't matter, and
the breeze through the window reminds me that i have
no say, no right, no part,

and yet
and yet
and yet the pace of my breath, the flush in my face, the jam in my throat, the thrill in my hands betray my logic

and i am overjoyed at the prospect of you
for a few minutes, just you --
overjoyed at the prospect alone

salted kisses

but this, this is a new animal.
this is a different kind of
bittersweet. this is
new.

before, my yearnings had been
obscured, vague,
yearnings to get away
instead of yearnings toward,
to name that which ill-suited me,
and to grasp, indelicately, at
what I imagined my desires to be.

now, as the tide turns, comes in,
I throw myself towards the things
I want, knowing now what they are,
because they've taken reality's form.
And they haunt me, those things I want,
because though I see them, though I lap
at them, drink them in through
words and voice and starbursts of the heart,
I know I cannot have, I cannot truly
know.

I will be beckoned, once again,
towards the weary, worldly sea, I'll ebb out
and away, pulled by the moon, dragging
myself slowly, gently releasing my
grasp of each grain of sand, leaving salted
kisses where they lay.

At least, at very least, I'll have tasted.

dreaming of

dreaming of long paths in a green wood,
i'm one of a few finding my way but
we're separately seeking. i fly low,
at some points.
i come to the top plateau of
a waterfall, and realizing i can't go down, i must go back
up over a slate rock ridge, and as i realize this, others
show up. we help each other back onto the path.

another scene, i'm traveling - on a ship or
a train? - with a wealthy, haughty, older crowd.
and sitting at a round dining table in a dining car or
room, and one individual is more alone than the others,
and for a reason: he's a bit obnoxious. but he makes a point:
he went from world traveler to all alone in an airplane bathroom,
and someone mis-interprets and finds him even more obnoxious,
but i re-interpret on his behalf, and make sure he is
understood correctly. and i'm happy to play that role.

another scene, much like the path, i am with some friends,
some strangers, in a massive, gargantuan home owned
by two older women. dark wood, dark rugs, antiques, all
old and stately and dark. we are let loose in the house for the night,
and i explore room to room, we all do, as though there is
an endpoint, though we leave once we find a way out.
more helping each other, and a laotian boy becomes enamored with me
when he thinks he hears me speak his language to a young girl.
and as i so often do, i allow him to project upon me, and
see what he wishes, and be pleased, knowing that i may one day
break my back arching so far to be what i am not. i never admit to
what he suspects, but i never deny. just smile my knowing smile
and let him be.

one other piece: at the end, in early morning, we leave. but there is a
very very very tiny dog. a golden retriever or some other long-haired
classic, standing on a very tiny book by the foyer. he's small enough to
palm, and quite alive although my instinct is that he's really
a human in canine form, and that he understands
quite well human action and speech. anyway, the owner of the
home encourages me to take him with me and keep him,
and i seriously consider it (he comes with a short paragraph of
instructions printed on the back of the book, including
"wet with finger twice a day" to keep clean, and i've so been wanting a
dog and this might be the ticket to a low-maintenance pet),
but the woman senses my hesitance and decides not to push,
but offers to keep the dog there for me if i want to come back.

wierdwierdwierd.

to be warm

to create space, to make love
tangible, to scatter powdered sugar
over those i love and have before.

to sink down in feather-fed
pillows, to eat with gusto,
to breathe with spontaneity.

to forget with patience and
remember with my head
tilted to one side, accepting. to bury the
memories in years of sand and dig them
out from time to time, to find
the images scratched and grainy now
and the words muffled. to wipe away the
sand and see the rough sketch,
the general significance, to let the details go.

to sit on the sand, over memories,
to breathe in the sun and be
warm.