memory

now it is sweetness
finally

a birthday this year
wrapped in

peace

two year before
saw me encased in a tarp

in the damp weather

of

the faroe islands
pleading for your return

sweetness of a lifetime
held in two years

not all who beg for one’s
answers

walk away whole
or healed

sweetness

of a lifetime
carried for two years

the season is here once again.
this time of year,
it holds the memory
of such transformation.
i remember it was
when the hummingbirds left,
when they began their
great migration.
the air was changing each day,
just a little cooler,
a little
cooler.
before the hummingbirds departed,
they came,
wings a blur in such great motion.
“give us the skins
you’ve shed,
the pasts
with no place here and now!”
they said.
we took off skins and
layers of self,
all the fragile surfaces
that took our breaths,
that hid our eyes.
then we let a stillness come.
a tranquility in which we could say,
“this is how i will remember you!”

now we know

of blood and water

of how long

true embraces last

we know that love

remains constant

it does not flee

from simple fright

this is time;
cedar shingles that
tell of seasons,
weather-worn and gray.
a question unasked.
a touch of passion
left hanging.
time is healing
in scattered pieces;
small fractions
of a face
once kissed &
now forgotten.
time is a name,
one called out
in a dream
& unanswered in
waking-life.
this is time;
a boy of innocence
becoming a man
far too soon,
holding steady,
holding shelter,
holding words.
time hasn’t moved,
just the distance
from my fingertips
to yours,
from my mouth
to your body.
this is time;
a face
aged by life,
wrinkled and worn,
with eyes
that burn with such
fearsome intensity.
a gift given by time,
only by time.

a tree is patient;
with gnarls about its
trunk, like old fingers.
it is sun-beached and
long since passed.
the days and nights
move around it.
we witness the blue sky,
so rich and clear,
and mistake our needs.
we forget tolerance
and say,

get out of the way
you old tree!
i want to see the blue sky.

but the tree is patient.
by day
it marks the earth
with the movement
of the sun
across the sky,
not rushing it,
letting it be,
moment by moment.
at night it stands
almost sentry-like,
keeping watch,
waiting.
it never says,

you are gray today,
bring back
your blue sky!

if it is unable
to mark the earth
as a sundial would,
it just waits,
gnarled and old,
like it was yesterday
as it will be tomorrow.

shadows

of hands reaching

to face

of flesh naked

of hands to body

in being

and of becoming

i speak a foreign language.

a million syllables and a thousand vowels,
and i speak it alone.

all i want is the pleasures of body and the connection of soul,
but i am tangled
in this language only i speak.

when spoken it holds a weight i don’t understand,
and intentions not desired.

i withheld my longing for the pleasures of body and the connection of soul,
frightened by the weight
of my words.

then gentle fingers fell upon lips and took the sounds.

a mouth came to my mouth and took words.

every syllable and vowel was swallowed whole.

as every syllable and vowel was held,
a voice in my language said,

i hear you.
i know your intentions.
I understand.
speak without fear.
speak honestly and
open fully.
rest here naked in the flesh
and
free of concerns.

my longing for the pleasures of body
and the connection of soul returned to me.

with the language we speak,
the language we share,
we will reveal ourselves.

we will draw letters with our tongues
and with soft breath upon our necks we will write stories.

it’s midday.
i empty the coffee grinds
from the press.
it’s too late now for
another cup.
i bring the
grinds to the compost;
walking through the grass
barefoot.
it is so humid
the lawn
feels damp underfoot.
i pause and look up,
shielding my eyes
from the sun.
above,
one thin wisp
of cloud.
it looks out of place.
can you see this?
wherever you are,
can you see this?
the curvature of the cloud
is so feminine
in shape;
voluptuous and round,
gesturing in both a crude
and shy way.
can you see this?
i am out of place;
here in the yard,
on the humidity soaked grass.
can you see me?
wherever you are,
can you see me?
i stand until
the cloud
melts away into blue,
a rich blue,
a humid blue.
wherever you are,
can you see me?

pink sky
just a thin strip
pale
silhouetted trees
the humidity
broken
gentle fingers
on skin
just a soft touch
hold
stay here night
stay
silhouettes moving
graceful
pink sky
thin strip of light
early dawn
stay here night
stay

i have misunderstood
the plum
such a thing
often overlooked
we feed each other slices
of sweet ripe fruit
collecting the juice
with our tongues
and sucking the extract
from our lips
tasting both fruit
and skin
this is our language
words have failed us both
it is primal
it is perfect
it is all we want
sticky fingers and lips
and the pit of a plum