Soon it was clear that the moon
was a horse's skull,
and the air, a dark apple.
The gearshift shudder of
a heavy-laden truck fades,
all the while, the
sustained drone of bees;
past their prime and sluggish,
their wings cannot be stilled.
A dull glint behind the eyes
of a yoked pair of oxen,
standing at a crossroad
between myself and the fields
that bake in the August
of a Spanish sun,
waiting for the
hammer and anvil to sing,
for the echoing refrain
of rifle shots beyond
a stand of distant trees
shimmering from spent cartridges
in the waning afternoon
of your exquisitely curved spine.
Where I exist, the seasons linger or
die too soon.
I cannot see the subtle changes, or
hear the cadence of their wings.
I feel the shift and taste the residue
between our lips,
and on the air where it also lingers.
His passing will bring the rain but
I covet him more, suspended as we are
between the seasons.
And when dusk is touched by the brows
of moths, he will fade away,
a harbinger of autumn's end before it
begins, while I drift a river dream
over which a new moon ascends.
An oar dips silently and I shiver.
Yellow streetlights bleak
wearing necklaces of rain-
pearls against the streak
of finger painted windows
overlaid
with quicksilver brocade
and nests of spider eggs.
Where once this place
was abandoned, in a room
the creak of floor boards
drowned by thunder's boom,
revealed
by shadow and lightning strobe,
paint-by-number puddles trace
around two who sleep sound
in the aftermath
of their heated tryst
that causes the panes
to mist
and condensate.
Moisture trickles down
brittle wallpaper paste
and folds of stained flesh
amidst mottled reflections
as the sound of rumbling
deep
in the sagging rafters
stumbles, tumbli
"Whispers"
lovers and their touch-
incoming waves
spent
against the curves
of shoreline
lovers and their whispers-
foam washes into an
abandoned conch,
holding
their secrets
lovers and their passion-
sea lions
call to each other
as swells roll in from
deep waters
lovers and their song-
floating above sunrise,
gull cries echo
again and again
into sunset
lovers and their dreams-
midnight ocean calm,
a shooting star meets
another
shooting star
a silent comment
a gentle touch on the shoulder
agreeing, believing
my encouragement
drawn carefully out and offered
pooled in cupped hands
it trembles and wavers, clinging
briefly to my mortality
but as it is poured
from my hands, it passes into
an eternal strength for you
the blinding light makes me cry,
hurting me even as it heals
where it comes from, the
earth shaman pulls it from the sky
from the mist that keeps him
from entering heaven, where
it rains silver-blue and gold,
his hands pull from me
black spots of disease,
white-hot threads pass through
turning bile into
pure energy, going inwards
the blessing of his craft
his selflessness - the gift
he himself
cannot partake of
his kind eyes, from which
his own tears now fall
Unafraid of the rainwater
her heart is like a lion;
like a warrior
She dances around in a
parking lot
and through my mind
ever after
on cloudy days and
sunny days after-the-rain
Each visit makes her
smile a little brighter
She might be weary,
she might be worn
but her spirit is full of light
She dances and holds
everyone
as if in orbit
cycling through weeks
the storms a small ordeal
next to her grace
The night is worth it
to see her rise in the morning