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For Eszter

trees touch the early blue of dawn.
these old fingers,
bent from life and seasons
of joy and work,
are still moved
by pleasures of youth.
i enter
and wake you softly.
you, still wrapped in sleep,
warm, with
gentle sighs that tell of dreams,
of worlds not understood here,
here in waking-life.
your body, perfect to me,
extends and stretches,
exposing warm flesh.
it unfolds
and i explore your figure
as if for the first time.
i breathe in your sleep,
tracing your being
with my lips.
my body presses against yours,
my erection
reveals my thirst.
in continuous lines
i draw you with my fingertips
so as to hold this forever.

For Jeremiah

(It has been one year since my breakthrough in France. For months after the experience, I referred to it as two things, 1) a breakdown and 2) an incident. Neither of these is how I view it now. It is a breakthrough. At the time, this was impossible to see, naturally. It was the most horrifying experience of my life. Even months afterward, I was disturbed and rattled by the events. I am aware now of what I witnessed, of what was presented to me. That which I cannot put into words, that which only appears in dreams and visions, speaks to me of such knowledge. Thus, the reason I regard it as an experience. I needn’t go into a lengthy explanation of why, as I am sure that it is evident. For a long time, I worried that another “incident” would occur. After my return from France, I had a chronic worry, an almost tingling sensation that another breakdown was just moments away. As the months passed and my perception shifted, I began to realize how powerful all that came to pass was. The doors had been opened; and it is now an experience that I hold sacred.)

i fold my energy around myself
embracing my being
i go within

i left something in france
in those mountains
deep in those mountains

who will i be
if i am no longer jeremiah

shedding layers
from autumn
to winter
to spring

i held on
there is such safety even in pain
i wanted to return to him
to bring him back

what would i be
who would i be

a twilight voice said

you will be you without being me
you will hold you and only you
of you you will be
for you you will be

it was in the new year that i awoke
sometime in the early hours
in the dim light i opened my eyes
and saw myself
i witnessed myself

i am no longer jeremiah

though i insisted

come with me
i can’t be me without being you
who will i be without being you

again the twilight voice spoke

you will be you without being me
you will hold you and only you
of you you will be
for you you will be

in the dim light of the new year i finally awoke
in the early hours i opened my eyes
and i saw myself
i witnessed myself

i am no longer jeremiah

the wind blows in a certain way
during the deep winter months.
it is difficult to describe.
it sounds like a mix between
a shushing sound
and a soft whisper
as it moves along the side of the house
and onward into the night.
it isn’t deep winter,
yet i was awoken
from sleep by its movement.
maybe it is a shushing sound
or a whisper-like hum.
though at this point in my life
it sounds like a memory.
jeremiah once listened to this sound.
who was he?
who was i?
i will not ask this outwardly
to the world.
it holds few answers for me.
the wind has returned again.
did it carried jeremiah away
during its last visit?
no, i simply awoke from my rest
to the wind moving about my soul,
gently pulling all that
which was no longer needed from within.

01:00. Quiet. This, to me, is the most sacred time. Gentle breaths. Every part of the skin is aware of the stillness. I never liked the night. My fears would always find me. Now I long for it. I can strip down and be as I wish. I can witness without judgment and hold myself. I reach out to dreams now, and open to them, let them fill in the questions and unknowns. The stillness holds space, and the night, it grants me freedom not felt in the day.

sometimes i slip into such stillness

i am not seeking it

it simply arrives

it holds me as i want to be held

it is in this place

that all the questions fade

and i am left with the knowledge

that i could love you

as much as i love myself

father, as i age
i can see you
in my eyes,
and in the wrinkles
on my face.
they are not
sad eyes,
just pensive,
eyes that hold more feelings
than age.
i don’t know
what aged you,
what put those
emotions deep within
those eyes of yours.
I know they would
hold me.
it wasn’t always with
love. no,
it was seldom so.
there was a bitterness
there, deep in
those eyes.
when i look at
my reflection,
when i hold my gaze,
i see a gentleness
brought about by
life and all the trials
i have had.
it never made
me bitter.
it never made me
as it made you.
but i do not
trust myself.
my words can bite.
i don’t want my
eyes to as well.
i don’t trust
that they
will always hold
those dear to me
with love.
no, i don’t.
i have tried.
now must turn inward,
and let my eyes
look outward
toward the word,
but only truly
see within.