Sunday, March 27, 2011


What preempted these toxic thoughts and words? A tincture that flowed inside us, seeped into bones, traveled unnoticed in dark, wet silence? Were we stained by it? Infused? Poisoned?

Is there more to say? Haven't we talked enough?

Just this:

That habits, feelings, ideas, and actions have a beginning. From the dampness, this stuff pulled its tint, sugar, shape. We can't deny that we made this juice together, made it sensual, palpable, gave it a presence that remained because we wouldn't release it.

As I present myself to you on this Sunday morning, I offer myself as changed, declare that I am able to see who and how you are, I can't name what shifted or when. An unclenching occurred and sweetness rose - to my mouth in this request that you and I reconsider our thoughts - that we try a different form of union.

Thursday, March 3, 2011

When at First . . .

You take hold of me and just then I hear a whisper that comes from beneath language, where thoughts can feel warm and almost touch skin. Then, the your unspokens beget pure tone, scent, salt. I yield.

You cradle my head in both of your hands, work your fingers into the knots behind my jaw, tug a bit to extend the neck, then rest my head on small satin pillow.

Through the open window, a slight push of cool air, a bell from a church rising above the sounds in the street, your breathing and mine. Invisible is the stuff that connects us, among cells and atoms, not of them.

Just past the edge of this unmitigated moment of zero, everything awaits.