Quiet Things

I sway in a pale blue breeze of evening light
A stirring constellation of leaves
formed in the stillness that bottoms your cup.

I am father to the spaces between finely weaving words
my offering of letters from the hollow circus
of my battered, aching chest.

A silver service of distracted adulation,
strewn sweetly across your little white toes;
the ink with which I will trace our steps

Back to the preface, the one exquisite moment
when our eyes met one dreaming night
with streetlamp chaperons

and every part, ev-ery-thing hums
well-greased gears grind and spin
as we heaved, a drag of old burdens

we two, a hot engine of caresses whose roar,
crescendoed like amorous handprints
against the morning glass

the hot tick
     click
              tick
of quiet things,
dreaming. . .
of wings.

Fables

We are fireflies, you and I
seeking one, the other in twilight

Dancing lightly down hallowed streets
glowing cinders, floating through the nights we make our own
as one idea flowers into another,
petals riding a breeze

We would still our dance and just smile
the kind of smile that  begins... everything


We are burning stars, you and I
encircling heavens with our spiral trail

A starry cotillion blazing all about
They are cinders flowing through the night we make our own
Whorling ribbons of light behind us
As we weave infinities with our star dust tails

We would still our dance and just burn
the kind of burning that frees everything


We are ocean and sand, you and I
Braided lovers, falling. . . one upon the other

Playing by cover of moon and star
We're glimmer cinders, falling through the night we make our own
Our waves, the quiver of a soul-deep kiss
And by your touch, the ocean is ablaze

We would still our lips and say nothing
the kind of nothing that means everything