Sky Above Sky

It is only right that you teach me to swim, 

and inspire me to travel in the world and in words, 

Like the floating call of morning bells, 

(as sunset will call moonrise)

mushroomed blue skies lit with clouds, 

like weeds encircling a desert town

i have realized the deepest secret,

the cave in the mine,

the sky above sky

the fate of the cards

covered in cups and symbols

and eyes

that i carry your heart with me

for it is the ocean within my heart

the wonder that made stars gasp

so sharp they could only fly apart

A Tide of Wood and Leaf

When you feel down,
You, who swallowed a falling star. . . 

that was my star, 

and a wish was upon that light. 

You are all that I wished for. . . 

this endless wilderness of inspiration and laughter. 

Life with you is surprising and amazing!

When the rest of life that is so thin, 

and shallow falls over like the false 

building fronts of an old hollywood set, 

ours will grow over it all 

a tide of wood and leaf, 

swallowing the world.

The Light Switch

Humor me. 

Grab the light switch, and flick it up. . .

and down. . . 

up and down. . .

and again. 

Those were the days and nights pushing past our eyes. . . 

before we met. 

That was the lifetime which shaped us,

the life of time, before we met. . . 

before the world learned to stand still 

as a hummingbird's last wingbeat. . . 

a bubbling brook's meditation on joy, 

that flowed up the gates within us, 

past the watchful third eye, 

on to the white crown. . . 

the ecstasy of that buzzing moment 

before the first morning kiss. . . 

the sensation 

of both our lips 

reaching like a dawn. . .

hungry for the stars

and the rose hued bliss

that follows

when we feast

I am still asleep

I am still asleep. . . and dreaming 
I glide through the world, 
a white gull held aloft by the sun, 
the ocean, and the blue sky itself. . . 

because of you.

I am still asleep. . . I am the starlight in a bird's eye, 

the shadow of a fairy's wing, 

and a forest, eternally burning. . . 

because of you.

I am still asleep. 

I am a timeless ruby of wine, 

and I sing the pure song of a crystal glass; 

all because you drink from me, 

and you drink deeply.

Life has lost all gravity because of you.

Farewell

With a guttural diesel engine's roar
a great hound treads the road. . .
A countdown, our rolling new year's eve
to the station, when must part

In the forest of sleeping bodies,
we play two clever trees
Woven round each other, oblivious
Let the passing lumber men disdain.

Our hands were always lovers,
passionate, hungering, knowing one the other
An intimate origami of blushing softness and bone
entwined with all the longing of our bodies

Our lips excite the air with word
as with some breaths we joke and speak
come Closer, I will whisper to your skin
caresses you, with my breath, my heat

Closer, as words become secrets,
and trembling skin their parchment
Closer, my darling mine,
so we might share a breathe as one

Breathe faster, Closer and content
lips pressed hard, liquid as tongues
for our station approaches
like evening sun

The Wish

I am a raven in her titanium sky
calling songs she could not recall.
"Love", untouchable as heart break
a pale drop of cream upon a fox's tongue

Did street lights blossom on your lash
and curve your cardinal lips?
Were those fireflies in your eyes?

Your lips remembered mine, as night
suffused a gentle dawn, in white.

As I shed feathers, to build her wings
please let her fly beyond the wall!

And then . . .  the river froze. For us,
and us alone. Our dance of days. . .

Do you remember me? For I wish,
to always remember you.

I would only wish I never met you,
so I might meet you, once again.

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.