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 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




i don’t go to church anymore
but that’s not what
this is about
i won’t write about religion
i won’t write about
how it tore me
apart inside
or a god that
supposedly judged me
for everything
everything
no i don’t want to write
about that
i was invited to go
to church
a family friend asked
me to take her
so i did
i stood like a statue
not bitterly
not angrily
just waiting til it was over
i always found the rhythm
of a church service interesting
sitting
standing
sitting
standing
this is what i was thinking about
when an elderly couple
in front me rose for the
100th time
the woman assisted her friend
to his feet
he stood with great difficulty
slowly rising
his body curling upwards
bone by bone
maybe it was her lover
or friend
it doesn’t really matter
the gesture was so beautiful
and kind
so giving
so completely selfless
i thought
as i also rose for the 100th time
this is why i came today
to see this
it had nothing to do with god
nothing to do with
religion
it was its own religion
its own faith
within that simple gesture
was god