black and white photographs, shot with your phone
A haunting/
was what our eyes did every night/ caught
in the dark & the shadows that play
it is beatle season & they creep in under the doors,
out of the damp/
I find the blur of my face again/
hued tones of youth's restless rage
back when I did not struggle wrapping my teeth around
//
we mute ourselves for the world,
sometimes/
& it is not the world's fault
but who have we become
in those silent spaces of light.
August does not know the word for easy
she blazes hot, feverish/
gets under your skin until you cannot stand it
& still,
where to go
for anything
coded blue?
The monsoons sweep in,
we dance in the rain.
Smoke Plumes
Getting older, you have to choke upon yourself
a little bit. The rain comes & the creek floods & suddenly you--
a river. Raging. Here, the beds where once your hands
were so gentle. Here, the evacuation order
to the residents. Here, the ones that sit on their porches
and watch, wait
anyways. Crack open beers and pour white wine
over ice cubes.
The rain comes & so does the lightning & in the midst of summer--
brushfires. Ash the landscape like a cigarette. Smoke the whole valley.
You pray for your home harder in a fire than in any other
natural disaster,
we think. Smoke plumes turn the sunset pink
in the most sinister way. Two years ago they turned
the sun red on summer solstice. Divinity is always in the clouds.
Divinity is in natural disaster. It's the closest you stand to god,
sometimes.
(not always, please
remember, these
summer months
can just be ugly.)
silent house
trying to recapture the
wet mark/ the
red flowers/
the thread
that still loves,
wrapped around the bedside
in a complicated
gold
the metallic temperature of
street lamps
catching
breath
outside
against the black sky
the lit window
dragging its pavement square
like a clenched fist
for weeks,
for months.
a taste of blood / a piece of paper
continual gravel
results in dirty,
broken
feet.
december 4
think bright rain
over flowers
in the desert. i brew their
dried sisters in a cup
& taste a fragment
of slumbered sunlight
as the morning mist
departs. we're all moment-catchers,
in our way. sometimes lost
between the earth
& the sky
& our minds. what fresh dream
can we create
today. what spirit
waits on the back porch
to sit beside us,
curved spine & gravel toes
& eyes deeper
for every year that passes.
what will you call upon
to pass these winter months?
Subterranean self/ cigarette rust & precious stones/ seraphim
come in/ carrying
moonstone &
ruby.
The moon's halo gets
brighter/ I want to honor every
cream-colored sentiment
I own. Dirty-glasses/ silvered
rings round
many fingers.
The art comes when you don't think/
you just feel. & scarlet
teaches bone
how to become.
Here is your oracle:
within. Let's build a home
out of earth.
Your freckles
are everywhere you've
jumped in puddles
& the water remembered falling from the sky/ learned
to paint like rain.
Emotion
must fall
in order to nourish
what grows.
Act I
Turn the carpet
into a bed of stars. Rest your feet
in the cosmos, swirl the galaxies
gently.
Whisper more dance
into the universe. Turn the sun violet
in the thirty minutes before dawn
& give colors voices
to sing with.
Run ladders down from the clouds,
build peaceful villages
we can climb to
when things become too much
way down here.
Remind the world
of its gentleness. Set one truly magic moment
within every day
where every creature
is taken breathless by beauty.
Turn dreaming
into sharper reality. Give all of the poet souls
ways to make life from their art
the same way
their art makes life
from marks upon pages.
Save the young souls
growing backwards. Show them a crystal ball
in which life blooms
once more. Heal
with one touch
of hope & kindness. Breathe future
back into this place. Breathe wonder
back into this place.
Breathe wonder
back into this place.