Thursday, July 16, 2015

the most beautiful thing

are a hundred faults
to every word they speak
and one
to every kiss given

i waited my whole life
for that moment
like in movies
when the real world would become,
better than fiction

i found it only on the lips of men
that rush, that spin
where at last the plot began
to rush towards climax
the inevitable meeting of skin and skin

i lived whole days like dreams
weeks colliding into weeks
of fantasy

just like movies
just like poems

my hair, the wind
the other woman
southern belle
looked better on me than lip gloss

now i see things slowly
the steeping tea as it diffuses,
fills up my cup to running over
and the air is thick with honeysuckle

colours, now, stay in my dreams
and a racing heart
and the wind is for clouds
while my hair stays bound
and the silk that ties it
is the most beautiful thing 

the far shore of another soul

here, my self, my world, my heart
words are inadequate.

for all i want to do
to break a piece off
a mirror segment showing sky
or cut a scrap of silk
night black and grained

to press to your palm, to say
this is what i see, what i feel
this was my day -
pray on this.

days do not break into moments
fit for the consumption of the one you love
nor do moments break into words
easily encoded and sent by air

there is only the whole:
one heart,
one life
and the dark tossed sea
stretching between it and the lights
on the far shore of another soul

Sunday, July 12, 2015

rosemary water

it falls on me suddenly
like bandits in the mountains,
like the dark you did not expect,
a bird of prey that drops like stone
eyes on a kill.
there are no gentle metaphors

the field stretches out in front of me
a lazy, languid meadow day
i sip infusion,
regret skimping on the apricots
bat away the buzzing mosquito,
i could stay here, like this, forever
in the sun and shadow
reading books
drinking drinks

and it falls like an axe
heavy, sudden, definite
so that i set down my glass

'there are no more chances for love'

and that is that.
what falls is not again lifted


the pond reflects the sky
wind in the maples
wind in the pear

my heart,
inverse mirrors
reflects only itself
into infinity

and while the pond calls forth prayer
my heart will only summon demons