Monday, January 23, 2012

the flight

I made my bed beside the railroad tracks
laying down as the deer
in their wild and grassy places
and folded my hands
as if in prayer.
I made my bed beside the white clay road
banished from your call
as lost as any dog.
who can count the ways
I was unmade that night?
still the wheels of the road
rumbled close
always turning
like mother to child.
the train cried.
I felt its vibration in the earth.
it was no more than
the nighthawks passing over me,
like smoke rising.
the lights of the cars on the highway
to my drowning eyes
seemed globes – spirits
rising to heaven
wait, I cried - wait
can you blame me?
there was nothing left of me but tears
but words whispered in prayer.

the price

others may write about eyes
about glances
what would I know of this?
-my sight extinguished at his touch
his hair running though my hand like water,
his lips like currents
pulling me deeper
drowning me in his breath.
in the morning – departing
buttoning clothes
like children gathering slippery stones
from the riverbank,
shoving sandy, never clean feet into shoes,
trembling, suddenly cold.
 I thought I knew what this would cost me
- I should have known what this would cost me.
I should have known
love isn’t a price you pay only once.

Saturday, January 14, 2012

radiant star

they say we are made of earth.
this must be true, because I crumble at your touch.
like dust I scatter on your breath.
they say we are made in the same vein as the stars.
they are our ancestors perched above us,
each in its own silver chair.
this too must be true.
when you hold me close
our hearts together feel composed entirely of light
radiating from your body to mine.
we are nothing more than atoms transmitted
-the sound of a chord being struck.
they say we are immortal beings
each of us possessed of a soul.
how could we not?
the universe is infinite
-that truest note escaping us-
how could we ever stop traveling across it?

Friday, January 13, 2012

the kiss

your kiss is like a torn cloth
it fits against the sky like a church spire
alone in a prairie of winter.
your touch runs like a furrowed field,
line beside line, unbroken
if there had been a moment
for breathing,
for asking,
I would have told you, love
that I’d pay any price
-my heart knows its color
my blood, my being
knows its name.

Saturday, January 7, 2012

the return

kiss me, love, and then return
-while you are gone my heart will be
like a furrowed field in winter
dusted in snow
lines of black
lines of white.
kiss me, love, and then return
-until you do, everything will be
as if only in passing,
flocks of birds alighting on a shorn field
for a moment a seed,
a drink, rest
then a cloud ever changing, ever migrating
bird by bird a whole, falling apart.
a kiss my love
-then while you are gone
I’ll imagine only your sweet return.

Thursday, January 5, 2012

the compass

they tell me there are directions
– north, west up,
down and left.
but how can this be?
when no matter where I turn
I am always moving toward you.
there are maps that only the heart can read.
it will tell you that sometimes even the shortest distances
are immeasurable, are too much.
no one praises a heart of stone,
but I must confess that mine is granite,
lead and quartz,
weighted, heavy.
my being is always falling in your gravity
toward the earth, your touch
your heart.