my prince of blue

because the frail wing
trembling in black possessive mud
is a voice stranded by words and
the night eats words

i walk towards it sharpened by desire
sometimes it seems human

maybe this is the only way
for my pillow to keep its gentle spell of dreams

because i need a place where i can hold you

you should know
i’ve become every altar across three continents

you should know
i’ve become every animal you’ve left behind

my prince of blue
night is better
i am afraid, glorious
and ethereal
water is poseidon and
the sky opens its mouth wide of fireflies
i land cool rain of thousand fires
in ash we are born

sometimes this place feels almost human

dear stone garden

dear stone garden: you smell of magnolia
damiana, sweet orange and rose

yesterday he built me a country
where he stretched his long shadow and
i laid flat where i could sleep
(there may be mud on the carpet tonight)

i lazy the bed to question my ego
i throw love when loyalty undoes me
press ancient truth into my palm like fortune
for the future i know i begin

i say to the dark, look
everything is shifting into something else
of river’s fate and human time
as every earth goes round his moon

dear stone garden: he’s a night possessor
but life is just souls changing clothes
the carpet will have mud tonight because
there is a nightingale in my heart

changing woman weaving house

the woods are waiting for me tonight, dear stone fruit:

so i run fast over the wild land of returning paths
destiny chasing my heels, i enter
changing woman weaving house
where the otherworld is everywhere

weaving the integrity of emeralds, sacred lovers
tenderness in tents and the souls of the thousand white wolves
and so i weave, dear stone fruit:

to intuit fire i
am moon water i
am white shell
woman

& my only possession is a wooden jar
where i’ve collected seas and streams and tears
to keep them warm inside like a womb, protected
in my lap i nurture them
so that they are comforted
so that their eyes of rain are witnessed by mine
and i never spoke of burdens

and so we weave, dear stone fruit:
clouds into winds, tides for the fishermen
lyric of hearth and the seed of the eagleman
weaving, spinning the ever creating
web of wyrd

under the constant beat of the only sound there is:
of love

of hands and marriage

his hands are an old marriage
wrinkles of care and i sink into folds
of touch is touch, years in the making
holding on holding strong
but even strength is fragile

i hold steadfast under strain
but i too need to be held

and this is how we loved
years of lines connecting other lines
on palms lines stay and other lines
circle like courting hawks

but the most beautiful part of hands is where they touch now

and now is not too late
and tomorrow is also
not too late

high priestess

oh, goddess
oh, moon
high priestess beyond the veil
in your temple i am

bring life from the center
of my being i carry a love
of he who is i and i who is he
of he is i and we are one

of nothingness and darkness
i created worlds
i dwell within them
infinite, eternal flame
i am and now

let’s see how strong my love is

sweet child of mine

sweet child of mine,
i know you worry but look around

twilight shadows have fallen tucking in the earth
and the night is busy too as she wraps stars
into the hair of the goddess moon who is preparing
to dance in lushness with princes from distant lands

so lay your head in peace, sweet child of mine
close your eyes as the earth is closing hers too
take refuge in the quiet corner of your heart
and know that tomorrow the laugh of
the sun’s cheerful head will wake us up again

and i will take your hand
and we’ll figure it out then

a love you are

you are the slow turning of the skies
white lace curtains in wind
a curving of time
hand to hand
palm to palm
to hand to hand
a holding
sky, no beginning and no end
unasked of heart
and lips and body
and even mind
a love you are
a night running tender
with unclouded eyes
a quiet loving
so lush and overflowing
so may i stretch here
a little while longer
in the answers
we already know

like air are you, am i

there is so much i want to tell you
but the life this bench gives us is short

and i took nothing. nothing

and then

a memory like air
like air: you are
are you: like air

if i walk through you
would i disappear?

if i wear an umbrella
is it me causing the rain
or am i just a premonition?

fall in love, again

muscles carry their own heartbeat
night remembers the streets

hey, it’s natural
you heard a heartbeat and you fell in love with the heartbeat

you don’t have to forget to be at peace
like how sometimes when it’s relaxed the spine
remembers it had wings, don’t worry
names are just sounds of clocks
but clockwork still works without the clocks
it’s only the sound of those who
want to stay with us longer, don’t be afraid
the end of this street is so far ahead already behind us
just call it life and reach out to find
your hands to touch your chest

hey, you’ll fall in love again
and even tomorrow you’ll still have today

to be seen

it is vulnerable to be seen
especially when trembling
i say to the lamppost as
it sees me be seen

and the distance
as if
in a dream
opens – you are there
you watch me watching you watch

it is the possibility
of dreams that gives my heart no rest

and sometimes i don’t even know i am here
until i see you holding me