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byWednesday, December 31, 2008You are The One:let me tell you about the reason for being made.These eyes given to me, these things I look uponin the focus that remainswithin the textures of imperfect light -there is only your action:all else peels from view.
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byTuesday, December 30, 2008How you glow, even though the night falls in my soul.Even as I grow immersed in the dark, you glow. Your softsmile breaks even as my clouds gather.One cloud. Two. A storm. A rainy fortnight -a flood of Noah.You await my return: shining; gleaming.I depart, to climates that you never knowexist in me: fields of precipice; oceans full of caves;infinite tunnels of bones and decay; wastelandupon wasteland upon wasteland… -
byMonday, December 29, 2008I long to whisper faintly,so faintly that only you should hear me –not gods, nor angels, nor nearby pineswith their needling ears -so faintly that I should not hear myself.Perhaps I would say, my love,that our love is a flowerwith grim petals – that they are closed forever -dying without blossom on the stalk. -
bySunday, December 21, 2008With your love’s small handsa spirit is rebuilt,bedrockto cloud-crowned summitthe royal earth rises,fountains up,spills over, climbsthe ladder of itself -an upscape;an outscape -a mountain fillsa void upon the earth. -
byFriday, December 5, 2008It is like this:the ray is stable.It holds space,shines with perfect stasis, but thatis action. We arethe inactive ones,we who circumnavigate;so often forgetting our motion. -
byThursday, December 4, 2008As the gods intended, the core of my old soulpulses with your ancient light. Even now,your vivid energy fountains like a supernova,and you, inside me,gleam with a new life.You are my new star, and I gazeupon you with curious eyes.Yet inside yourself, darkness fallslike an iron veil: your spirit is a damp stone,and your hands hold a thin warmth.Often, you cast your light over the precipiceof your longing, peering for another’s face.The harpoon of old sorrowsstrikes too deep for consolation. -
byWednesday, December 3, 2008Let me make sacred once againthese crimson scars that roar your grief.The dark songs that hide in you like angry thieves,jeering your pale name; crouchingby the thin road of your weakness;let me cast them out with a ringing reverence. -
byTuesday, December 2, 2008This fierce music burstingfrom my fingersis more audible than “touch” connotes,it fillseach cathedral of your breasts,aura spreads – from the outside in –hands becomethe habitat of higher gods.
