Thursday, August 11, 2011

of green holes & things ,,,,

there is no sign that he was here 
no faded band of white where the ring encircled
no token
no locket or braid of silver 
( unless you count that initial carved on my upper left arm when i was 17 .....)
( but it is an indistinguishable secret )
( well, and now ....  that other thing ... ) 
no welts or bruises of indigo blue & purple-black
though, there is this bruised heaviness sometimes 
there is no box of memorabilia stashed under the bed, in the closet
or at the cedar-bottom of a drawer
no outward trace 
exactly ....
as you peel back the folds
of peach, pink & bone around my heart ...
you will find a blossoming infinite hole that remains
marking - defining
the sureness ...
steeped in music, words, yearning & years
smelling of honeyed-moist-earth & green growing things
you can still feel the imprint of his finger-tip tracings
that followed the path of my blood & moonlight
i've grown accustomed to that shadow weight and you can stand in it's thundered fire 
and you will know.
loves token

Sunday, August 7, 2011

a perseid august-falling . . .

at a young age, I knew that scars were
on the outside  . . rather than on the inside
it felt peaceful & ordained somehow
to bare a badge of injury - pain
to bruise
to bleed
to ultimately form thickened stretched skin
pale across that badge
webbed & tatter-woven
inside scars suffocated - binding tight to the hollow spaces
ringing with infinite sharpness
scar me up & lay me down
etch the line morel-black & paint resplendent
to elude the phantomn pursuit
THEN, we find
love ....
and the teeter-totter balancing act begins
love is discovered under bridges
-  the balm to our scars; inside & out
ending the requirement to bleed. . .
shining during the passage
Love :
the unbridled joy-love heard in a meadowlarks song,
the love of a grandmothers hand upon your back coupled by the smell of oatmeal
as captain kangaroo ping-pongs, the smell of summer coming from your mothers skin, the presence of a father sitting for hours at the foot of your bed watching as you slowly breathe yourself to sleep under his quiet vigilance, the soft ginger prickle of a baby's just-hatched hair beneath your lips, the easy comfort of a friend & the companionable love of men , , yes, men. where laughter, glory and the sky become tamed, and the rockem-sockem ghost-love of a man with sparkling walnut eyes that asks a willing surrender, a tacit understanding and to trust it's intimate quantum-rising.
the mark it leaves, the pain endured, the story told . . .
scars ride shot-gun on the outlaw love-trail
coloring us in aqua-forgiveness under a perseid night that lights the path home
Love is the scar-divine.

Monday, August 1, 2011

moon in virgo

radiant pulse . . .
throbbing against skin
inside-out, yes
travelling sideways with no map
committed to finding action in a subtle flutter
sometimes the movement is weak - fractured . . stored behind a
blue door locked with the weaved-golden-wound of twilight
locked tight in the perfection of turquoise love
open & believe
believe . .
light-cast out
cast out - trailing embers of possibility, passion & connection
the fire is lit
solitude is sought
and the noise & rustling of others is clearly marked by the grey thick-crayon-outline of wait
mercury retrograde . . .
sweetest nest hold me ;
swallow-feathered with nine-inch nails & frankinsense,
first-snow & lavendar : the ruby-boxed-ribboned-memory of the smell of your skin,
the surrender found in a kiss, your kiss honey-delicate, wet & warm
splash & be . . .
intellectually walking in love
emotions hot - fatigued - distant
action, non-action . . . the beating pulse of summer sun in leo
i will make my home between three planets trine
swallow-feathered & waiting