Near the Grave

The clarity of the first light of a day
is a joyful space in this year of the water snake
where the old calendars are gone.

Thoughts are smooth as the edge of  distant awareness
and this mind gallivants and dances past the quiet
of a breath, taunting with proposals and promises,
that will go nowhere. 

Sit with me
on a single branch
near the grave of true Love
and know that he was thinking of a sweet smile
gazing peacefully at the night sky
as he drifted like a sparrow
shivering away from the snow
and endless cold.

No Turning Back

Scour your mind
for the scoundrel,
the common thief who crawled
mysterious into the unconsciousness,

into the places that were neutral,
safe from intruders,
that stranger who destroyed your confidence
with so much heaviness,
the soiled weight of doubt.

That was the unexpected storm
that caught you off guard.
That was the end
of the lightness of innocense,
like clothes left hanging to dry on the line,
that uninformed confidence
that left the house without an umbrella
and was, instead, soaked to the skin
and shivering with regret.

There is no way
to turn back
in time to close the windows
against the deluge of this betrayal,
this lie that was that forgotten key
to losing everything
you thought was yours
alone to leave behind.

Decomposition

I am decomposing
like the rest of the planet

our bodies are mayhem,
our minds are free to wander
with a pocket full of pearls

dropping them
along the path
like bread crumbs
to mark the way
for lost children,
abandoned, squandered
as if you can dissipate love.

Tonight, as I fall into my darkest dreaming,
wake me with a whisper
and tell me It is worth knowing
that the body knows the way home
if we will only let her
dance like no one
can see the joy
in that loving
dispursement
of singular,
radiant
power

to completely
disappear.

The Sound of the Breath

The pirate in me inhales the sea
discerning sky from water
like a beggar feeling the edge of a coin
with his teeth.

Today, like any other day,
I fuse with the light
and those who cannot give up
hope.

I will not abandon this voyage
until I have filled the belly
with the sweetest liquor
of this aging master
and the hearty laugh

of one who knows
everything.

A Simple Command

Let it all go,

dispose the uniform,
gaudy and oblivious,
that saddles up like a drunk
at the bar

asking for more
when nothing is needed,

where thirst will never leave
the well you  hold  at attention
for what might have been
a simple command
from a some private thought.

Make yourself small
enough so you might go
undetected into the night.

Not even careful inspection of all your seams
and the tucks on the edges of your emotional wanting
can uncover the bloody faces
of desire that will never come back
from the raids you commanded

for too many nights
when you might otherwise
have been sleeping
or enlisting out of despiration
and grief.

Gardens of Your Pride

Consume nothing
for a fortnight,

longer if you dare

parade your wealth
with caution

for the Holy Ones know
what you squander

each night accounting
the coins and paper
bills you hold tight
until the steam rises
in your palms

releasing the truth
of what you must weave
and wattle

around the gardens
of your pride.

Facing Winter

As I discharge my heart
into the cold of winter air

infused with the familiar
density of layers

where snow and ice
are nearly family
in a tomb of tundra
beneath my feet

Crystals of arctic memory
are a vaccine to my fear;

a crutch for the asking
while I slowly wander
numbed
and decreasing my steps
in this impossible dance,

come to me
as if a nymph from the frosty fields
and hold my hand through this constant storm.

I am a child dreaming

looking for the way
when the path is covered
by the blizzard.

of missing the sound of your voice
when the only color is a nothingness;

a desert of white
in the center
of my wounded chest.