miniature

I'm but a falling star,
drifting down on the warm currents.
Remember me to the meanders
that have crossed the earth for a while
and then vanished.  Paint me in the shape of
a storm, one
that's always making wild mazes,
and we'll tumble down this path tonight,
together, and in the half-light of
a dream, we'll see our shadows
thrown up on the cliffs that stretch
above our little swimming shapes,
that ply the warm waters one
by one, hand
in hand.

 

a storm that's always threatening,

 
among the orbits of their eyes                                                                                    
stolen dreams and wrinkled stories                                                                               
line the waves and valleys                                                                                            
they cross.  and their words were                                                                                    
echoes of things they'd never seen,                                                                                   
assembled fragments of a world made                                                                                
from magazines, a collage they put together                                                                         
telepathically, in plain site of alligators                                                                            
and moths beating their tails and wings                                                                                
against the paper walls that keep them                                                                                 
bathed in tepid light from day to night
amd unseen.                                                                                                                                       
                  just wild mazes,                                                                  
                      to be lost in-                                                                                                                                                                                            
a mirror's stretched above the din of the ocean's                                                                  
crash, and catches the light in droves about its silver-rimmed glance...                                  
you seem to gleam yourself in half-spoken sentences,                                                        
in instants of selflessness,                                                                                            
a sandy beach scattered with years,                                                                              
and around the ocean lies your deep breath,                                                                        
one after another, sign of life, the maker your hands                                                      
the shape of the fingers trees resembles, it
speaks, with all the force of tides, with
the weight of skies and sky-scattered stars andwavy lines.  It rides
a stiff breeze,
til the oceans end,
and time descends the plateaux of thoughtful
rhymes.  My heart skips
a beat.  It's a forest of glimmers,
of half-eaten leaves and the light they've loved,
of the lingering scent of fur brushed by a treetrunk's
stolid watch through the dampness of the morning.                                            

Reckless Wild Wonder

I pour out

indigo,

and turn up

storm-tossed,

sticky with honey,

fingers in tresses

entangled.

Sweet storm, your

special ways of seeing,

your easy way of being,

how you

pour out into

aqueous pools of night,

how enormously ecstatic

your exhalations

fan the elements in me.

All the patience in the world

wouldn’t be enough to wait

to see how the leaves shimmy-

so I pour out

indigo,

but diffuse,

so you’ll have to come close

and lean your ear in

to listen.

Skysong

Timedrops

into the infinite;

rivulets that became an estuary,

when the sun

was still new

in our eyes.  Mountains

as wild as

my heart’s pulse

in the early night,

beat a way above

the encircling mist

and looked down

on all the trees.

A stream used to run

by near here-

its pearls watered

their hands and fed

many mouths.  The

mighty ocean takes

everything and everything

evaporates into the night-

whose lanterns wait for the world.

Lost in thought on a rivery afternoon

once upon a time a

little deer strolled

deep into the woods.

feeling lost it would

not walk any further

and stood in mute meditation

for as long as it took.

it's worth it to do

anything and it's even worth it sometimes

to do it over and over,

if the gaze with which

you meet it is beautiful,

long-lasting, and even. 

Green atlas

the light plays on your pupils

constantly as a

child with a ball

is unsatisfied with every

single blade of grass,

every inch of cloud;

your nose has pierced the sunshine

and where distance meets the horizon,

i hold out my hands,

become one with the earth,

and fall in a waterfall

the distance to the horizon-

knowing full well the length

i'll have to fall,

i'll have to cry,

to reach it down there. 

dream aggregate

try to capture

that simple rhyme

of full light, bring

the moon all the way down;

walk on the garden's edge

but i don't want

to enter now;

cry on my shoulder,

sift through the trash

to find the answers...

hug me tight

in the early light.

insist on every thing golden.

i desire fire.

in the opulent and glowing

dawn, ships in,

banners flapping.

a cold, swift wind has

seen us off,

the little things wash in and out;

clasp our hands.

this dream of love

wavers in my palm.

i can take it or give

it, any time, and

supercharged lightning striking,

the sea crashing against the rocks,

one field of grass waving...

the silence will penetrate me 

exstatitiscityly

emblazoned on

some hills

remote and

glowing;

the harder

side of

the massive

ledge of granite

grows moss

and ferns

Delight

I left

like the taste of

sea-salted air

on your tongue.

The stars swing

around the tips

of waves and

palm fronds leaves’

light blushes

still and

blink all

open eyes.

The way velvet loves wood

solidly; your hands

seeking hers. an ordinary

way to think wouldn't

have such light-

couldn't reflect it

between two eyes that way.

wild seas, wild clouds.

the nights must dawn long,

days must seem like love

bursting on the hour,

ants and little things

have become the gods.

you would know.  the story

goes the way all

hearts go that

love so much.  the

indefinite clasps

of velvet linking us together...

the infinite grain of the wood

we hold...

seas have roiled so long

into the night.

misty palms sway

and shudder.

in a nighttime window somewhere,

the faces are just beginning to light up...

The real

one token of

my appreciation

would be to forgo

that look,

any look;

looks burn.

so much better not

to even gaze.

in my mind

all is perfectly clearly

bright,

the trees one by one

sway

and only to themselves. 

night tracking away lost rain lost thoughts time in granada

We met

these girls

and boys

in a bar not far

from here.

Their multivaried

accents, rich

pretensions

of swinging opulent

jewels, handbags.

Their cool demeanor

demanded.

Our attention

and it was riveted

in the back of our skulls,

we nearly stopped

to check the pain

but kept on instead.

These people wont

stop for no man,

no woman.

Their knowledge

demands it

and demands itself.

Of the rain coasting

on the street only the

lights got reflected in

our path, only numbers

remained at last,

interconnections.

Letters were subsumed

in the math, spiraled away.

Sambas

what keeps you

running one at a time,

a single petal,

one little note

one little note

of guitar.

chords echo in

the night,

the night holds me up,

and i´m face to face

with the moon

and with the sun,

my goddesses;

and the thick forests.

Eating old trees to

sustain all the grace

to birth a few new ones,

now, all held in

til just the

appropriate moment, then,

out in a burst of sweat and

tears and blood, love

runs all the way

in and out again. 

Walking and Talking Like Some Kind of Movie

The way we walk

is divided

and spaced evenly

with windows

to show us where we

are not.

Make my eyes of marble,

and they will not open.

I will not see.

Because it is not real.

The way we mingle, we sway,

churning the small talk.

Hiding our true words.

Not knowing

where to go,

or why.

 

Little Whispers

Music was made in your eyes

(Stirring heart-rhymes describe

Intricate, silky notes that coax

Benevolent, relaxed meters to

Meander out of time,

Periods of peaks,

Static mountainous displays,

Orchid flowers and fingertips,

Oval-shaped even-numbered tiny fireflies

Escape into daylight.

Lazy lines unknown moment to moment.

Unspeakable rhythms just unfold

Just because.  No memory and not even

Time, in the long, loose

Bubble of the evening, amidst

The smoky forms of undeciphered ideas

In the secret language spoken between

The creek, the pebbles, the roots, the wing.

A skysong sparkleblue unloosens,

Unwinding itself down the path

Of perfumed ferns, to nestle

Within the heart’s whisper-sounds,

To resound to the depths of the forest),

Just before the stars came out,

To sing the wandering sunshine to sleep.