washed out with the tide
or crumbled between toes
What difference is there
in how it comes and how it goes?
The Universe is an existence self-chosen,
a wish to know Her every path - woven;
and oh, You among it
rapturous as Flowers each spring
caught forever in endless new being.
She gives us a fleeting cacophony of sounds,
in rivers, wind, 'n' loneliness abound;
oh, bodies to hear
dreamin' souls to make
and time and strings and pain-rent will
to dance and sing in rhythm with Her trill.
And with Her,
I wedge my fingers deep beneath,
beyond the groves of Your ribs,
where destiny pierced Our fractured souls
before the holly berry bled ink into Your skin.
where so many clichés bed secret feelings,
so gripping and grasped,
You bear Her every pain
while She makes you Everything.
We fall deep in love, forever again, with You,
but struggle beyond the terminal new;
how nary a heart can recall
falling endlessly's hardly felt at all.
She painted petals in Her own rosen puddles,
Y'always were a garden, true and supple;
and oh, our greatest pains
that first will's burst of empathy
still speaks, "You have always been Everything."
Oh, for little whiles You are each of We,
unjust sparks in the night of all that can be;
and though all things are but Flowers in the sun,
nothing done ever wasn't done for love.
daring cautiously beyond
by values refined
when lessons are learned
no credit is due
I know of your great addiction
of how you dissolve the veil
- betwixt your parts
- betwixt you
- your victim-limbs
- we wide-eyed souls
- to blissful madness
- in yearning immeasurable
I'm gracious for the limits of your restraint
how even you could not help
- but to slice with your artful blade
- but to draw your pain
piercing surgical fenestellae
- through our narrowed memories
- through you
into each other's arms
- to let us be,
- we, your mated agonies
You needn't be forgiven
for our "amen."
I'm all around myself now
watching me yearn to run
with my own hand
- so warmly on the small my back -
"If you walk, you'll see everything more."
and you hold her hand
like you'd forgotten that fingers weave
and in that little step among steps
you feel everything.
for your every single kindness
and the fears you've wrestled;
for being held in a blind mess,
seldom honestly nestled:
for all you want to be
and all you mean to me
for every step along your heavy journey
I long for you to be seen
It's precarious where we walk,
along the cliff beside the sound.
We teeter here, in precious talks,
stumbling beyond the lights of town.
We're from the sea, and will return,
singing harmony to its roar;
but mingling waves cannot discern,
'twixt you and me along their shore.
We loved our fathers most,
those times when they were mothers.
have praised their every word,
their every strength,
and every need
- even unto sin -
we have loved our fathers most
when they were mothers.
before it smelled of asphalt
when maps knew not its name
before signs or clearings ever bared the path
it was hidden, still, from most
beyond the cling of blackberry
amid the stinging briar
I was just as lost as I was rooted
fed by a whispered creek
bearing scents of tired, warm earth
it seeped a winter's embrace
beneath the sweet breeze of summer
ever smoothing jagged stone
a tranquility oft overlooked
it formed a harmony among my thoughts
carved deep between our lost old homes
binding time and place
or joy and pain
the hairs along my neck and arms
still stand in nostalgic ovation
to the music of its twinkling cascade
its quivering ferns knew me
as I had known myself
just gently shivering in hope
with my hands unfurled to the sun
and to an imagination of love
I was everything but sustainable then
and now I wonder
if I am that sacred grotto
weeping while I'd forgotten how
if I washed those moments of dirt
from my own callused feet
if I learned balance among seasons
and to ask
and to cherish
as I give
I was a forest
who begged to be explored,
to be known amongst my hist'ry,
and in my efforts, adored.
You followed trail guides
and judged me by their stars,
but balked blind afore the myst'ry
of faith in our learning arms.
Maybe what you're lookin' for
ain't lost among our trees,
but longs inside some hidden door,
cryin', "love," as your heart beats.
I was an old house
who creaked in winter's freeze,
to air out my wounds still growin'
with each promise only teased.
You'd stand at my gate
your own home in your mind,
then preclude us without knowin'
our deeper selves just inside.