these wide eyes
like legs spread open
is this really empowerment 
i see the shadow
being pulled along
but whose arms hold who at night 
resting with another
not in your nest
is that the recognition you seek 
flesh flesh flesh
but that’s not courage
true strength is surrender
a need to hold 
the longing for passion 
somewhere within
beyond the stained sheets
and the hot nest
you cradle a desire 
for another lifetime

why are you visiting
my dreams?

didn’t we share
everything

in waking life
that expressed our

desire? but now
i wonder.

in dreams there is
a gentle slowness.

the haste
and intensity

that burned us to the
ground

stays away.
and when i wake

i wonder if i should
reach out.

perhaps i should
extend my hand

and make tangible
the dreams that move me.

but i don’t.
no,

not anymore.
i prefer my dreams.

in dreams
i am indestructible.

i hold this in my mind.
after so long
i found the string;
the one i pulled
which broke apart
the pattern.
i fumbled for it
for sometime,
sitting amidst a pile
of threads
hoping and praying
i might find the end –
that i might find
the beginning.
now,
i can start to
reconstruct,
to interlace the threads
and weave a new
pattern.
i want to weave you,
your life,
into this.
to entwine us.
how do i ask?
i have tried.
i have.
the fibers of this string
are so worn now.
they are delicate.
i am delicate.
a body hardened
and a mind so sharp,
but my heart,
…my heart.
i have started
the pattern,
i have reached out my hand,
offering you the thread
so we can
weave together.
but i stop,
i have seen this,
i have felt
this.
i withdraw.
i weave through my heart
and mine alone.
i need to knit this
for me,
just for me now.


i want to arrive.
is it again
that i desire
to do so?
or have i
been here the
whole time?
i think i’m
just stubborn,
perhaps.
but who was
i then?
fingertips trace
soft skin
that has aged
so much
over just a few years.
gray hairs and
wrinkles,
eyes that pierce
even my own
being
in a frightening
and beautiful way.
i would be okay
arriving alone.
and i would be okay
returning alone.
fingertips
wouldn’t trace
empty sky
and these beautiful eyes
that pierce would
be just for me.

i wore a jacket
to drink my coffee
on the deck
it was cold but the sun
was beautiful
it was an autumn sun
one that breaks through trees
and highlights
golden leaves
and crimson leaves
i’m not sure
what else i want in life
i’m not sure
what else i need
i have climbed
my mountains
i have seen
what i need to
it all returns
and arrives again
crimson leaves
and golden leaves
will turn to lush green
and return again
to autumn colors
i would be content
to sit here
drink my coffee
and watch
and be

but a day ago / I am not me / a year ago / then a total stranger / to both you and I / it’s so beautiful / wrinkles that were once loved / are simply reflections now / just that / no longer a measurement of time / a measurement of longevity / i never knew desire / a want like this / a wish for self / me now for me / wrinkles measuring a life well lived / a reflection looking back / loving every mark / as simple as that / has filled me with me pleasure

in my mind
there is still warm sun

not from today
or this year
but from years ago
another lifetime

i can still remember
the cool tip of your nose
pressing against my cheek
followed by warm breath
and then a kiss

this is how it happened

illness has left me empty
all this has broken
and scarred
and worn so thin
all that i was

I am now
down to a single thread

but in lunacy
i’ll still hold
this one event

the cool tip of your nose
pressing against my cheek
followed by warm breath
and then a kiss

all of this
will drive me mad

i am ok with this
i have made peace
with losing everything

but not the memory
of warm sun
and a cold nose against
my cheek
not of forgetting warm breath
that spoke a language
without words
and of a kiss
that didn’t leave
with everything else


i think we’ve
seen this before
haven’t we
looking for shadows
instead of flesh
trying to hear murmurs
rather than words
i have tasted
the salt of skin
and heard the
echo of whispers
but neither
have a pull anymore
though the emptiness
jabs with such
bittersweet needles
my solitude presses slowly
the emptiness of time
to which i have
grown so accustom