some nights the moon is a train

it takes me a while

to love things.

 

but then i am

loyally locked in.

 

the colonial blue

house holds the

 

key, but no door.

in the back-ground,

 

the long bow of the

cello sings up from

 

the depths. one floor up,

children grow in their

 

beds. dad used to tease

about putting us in a vice

 

overnight. i took his words

to heart: the dreams that

 

shortened me still follow—

strong shadows of

 

nails and hair; of things

that once lived, fighting

 

to weave them-selves

back in, back to life.

 

some nights the moon

is a train. i am boarding

 

her, i am carrying

alstroemerias, i am

 

smiling as the tiny

gear of a whisper

 

turns. the shrieking,

pulsing, turning to

 

blood is all in my

head; out-side, the

 

view is silent: a giant

wheel of compliance.

 

 

 

behind the blue ridge

every thing is
shape and shadow;
every thing holds
light and depth and a
hollow core leading
to more.

there are six
sides to
every story:
hex-a-gon s
building their
sacred geometry,

while the eyes in
the bedside table
engrain the lines into
their cell memory:
translucent pools of
been here before.

the way your voice
dips low and mine
climbs high; the way
the wonder hides
as we rush to fill
the lush space:

parallel universes
hushed in black & white;
the occasional punch
of color
makes me
drunk—

red-head-ed love,
trapped and floating
up a shaking spine of stairs—
leading to the stars,
leading to the little
prince of every where.

look: love

20150411_105439

If I look closely, I can see my self in you.

If I truly love my self, I will love you.

If I can accept my own humanity, I will accept the humanity in you.

If I can celebrate my own divinity, I will celebrate the divinity in you.

Loving God is loving my self, loving my neighbor:

the Light, the Shadow,

God in me, as Me; in you as You.

20150411_104805-1

all the time in the world

it takes off –

like a shot.

 

i try to follow it out

into oblivion,

 

but i am held down,

mired into this moment,

 

this fake contraption

with false starts

 

and widening gaps

and leering teeth.

 

the word within the word

opens and opens and

 

i am falling into the fissures.

 

if you honor the love, the joy, the light—

must you not also honor the opposites?

 

the divine darkness creeping along the edges,

the void that was there before you, before

everything.

 

:there can be no shape without shadow:

 

the flat light

spread under you like a

sheet of sea floor,

 

brilliant and

bastioned.

 

you can only see the stars

in the black of night;

 

they call to you–

 

from beyond,

from behind,

from within.

 

if you let them, they swell up

and burst out of your very heart.