Thursday, February 24, 2011


Not with blind faith but with lips opened, anticipating the space that precedes contact - the moment just before hello - In that way I present myself to you without expectation or even capacity to define how it might feel to see or unfold in you.

What can I expect other than what is as I see past a surface to a you within a you, concentric, concentrated in emerald descent along a path that falls toward re-union, where you and I meet in a concurrent fullness and vacuum?

Secret, sacred place unmarked, between these words that began at full voice and collapse into inchoate muttering, wide-eyed silence face to face with an emptiness I have never touched but have always known.

Monday, February 21, 2011

While Walking in a Parade

I look up to see a woman looking down and, because the parade day has now darkened into slates and smokey chocolate browns of city nights, I can see nothing more of her than her silhouette, framed in the fourth storey window - a big square of burnt yellow light.

Then, when a street-to-sky rocket shoots up, explodes, it bathes the brick face of this building in its blues and white. Post-powder silence ensues.

I wave and she nods, turning away from the window. Who is she? Who am I, looking up? I am carried for an instant from my body, through hers, and then back to the street where I find myself holding a piece of a language that seems not to belong to me.

A whistle blows and I walk forward, amidst my contingent dressed in reds and blues, a hundred yards more toward the reviewing stand. Bright lights shine in my face and chase away pursuing shadows.

The parade continues, as before.


A drop of an essential oil descends within you when you, in our first exchange, open. For an instant - rich, honey-tinted - this amber congeals from between the words we share, bearing a sweet nose of our thoughts' wine . . .

You tell me that when you yield to it, this honey-drop of mind and perception sinks way in, that though you are made of water, this penetrating liquid is heavier. Then, with a glance at a time piece, you close again, depart, and the distance of circumstance separates us.

Today, you speak of the water again - quietness of a pool, sweetness and darkness both infused into your bones, flowing in your blue veins - advancing beneath your pale skin.

I observe you place your left hand in your right. You close your eyes. We sit and share a liquid moment- ebbing and rising with the wordless tug of implications.

These exchanges point to what more is possible and how we limit what we imagine.

Friday, February 4, 2011

Before They Found Her

Tight and wet over her full blue lips – a maple leaf wrapped like an amber palm holding protests back – and her eyes opened to the big empty – a blue bowl of winter sky - cloudless witness – damp, green, departed to sights beyond her resting place in this park’s snow blanketed meadow. Alabaster cheeks and one or two locks of red hair.

Chilled and solitary she lay in wait for her eventual discovery. Her last message, prepared for the first to find her, but ready to deliver before she left us altogether.