What is Not Said

Watch closely
as I move my fingers
against the grain of the fabric
that makes up your thoughts.
Those intricately woven threads
are becoming the life line
I return to for comfort again
and again in the memory
of a time when words
were not needed—

where complications of chronology
and space washed ashore
on the white beaches of the mind
with answers stuffed carefully
into the bottles blown thin
in the shape of our hearts—
the messages clearly
calls for help
and salty love.

Knowing all that has been,
how do we extend our hands
to the divinity that lives
within the other
on days like today
when sleep has gone
past our bed,
and pain lives
in the large bones of our legs,
making travel toward peace
seem impossible?

I reach out anyway,
like Eve asking forgiveness
from Adam for handing him the fruit
angels dared not to taste,
and step in
to embrace
the soul’s companion
as if nothing stands in the way
of gathering grace
into my arms.

There are no words necessary
in this sweet rising up
to look you in the eye and finally see
everything that truly matters.
Tracing letters with our tongues
would only diminish the joy
found in silent recognition—
understated in the jazz
that trembles constantly
in the knowing notes written
in the encyclopedia of the body.

What is not said
laughs,
absorbing the language
of longing like liquid gold
condensing around a lifetime
that will never be lost
on words
or with such foolish games
that we mortals
have learned
to walk
within.

Squandering Blue

There is a part of me
that is beyond what is us,
where winter
and Jupiter’s moons
call to the floors of the seas
for waves that rage,
blindsiding sailors
with water and turbulence
until the walls of blue
squander everything.

Release the fury
from my fingers
and flash from the strands
of my electric hair
while I stand alone and naked
in front of you
leaving you gasping for breath
as the colors fade into golden coins
of truth at our feet.

Here, the evolution
of spirit
has grown wings
and lifts up
from the base
of my spine
to the crown
at my temples,
bejeweled with sapphires, and emeralds
and purple amethyst light
that dances around
each of us
like fire.

I am not afraid
of what might be lost
in this union.
I can only let the brilliance
wash through me
in all manner of death
that must bring abundant new life.

Swarm on the Solstice

The hum of summer
lives inside my mouth today
like a swarm of contented bees
drunk on honey,
the hive celebrating
her Queen by busily fanning
the energy of kindness
all around this beautiful center
of sweetness.

As the sun rises to her highest,
the moon picks up speed--
waxing toward fullness,
sharing the brilliance of light
even in the blue of the day.
These round mysteries
can’t help themselves
as they dance together.
Their movements suggest a joy
we might all share in this
remembered awakening.

The ocean breezes have come
to the wings of my skin
from far away on this morning
the same way they have
for a thousand lifetimes
on this first day of summer.
The tendrils near this soft longing
sigh with a breath
that will be taken in again
and gentled toward the core
like a whisper
of all the times I have loved
so fully that I burst open
in golden green and violet light
and I laugh out loud,
vibrating like the hive around me,
as royal as all summers
that take flight to some new home.