snapshot of day

dark of morning blooming 

winds have ceased their roaring 

quiet 

colors 

fire 

warming 

this moment lighted stillness 

heart beating 

breath connecting 

all before to here 

simple exacting presence 

October ~ of writing

 cotton moon 

of searching's lament 

there upon the doormat 

words are thick - hardly flowing 

bowing to a coolness unpromised 

by collision & remorse 

poems lie at the bottom of torment 

tucked away & nestled now 

      in layers & layers of felted acceptance 

love & leaves are funny things 

caught in the cold breeze of dark hours 

cotton moon 

of searching's lament . . .  

of gloamings lean

standing in the doorway
-there-
between the kitchen and dining room
looking at your
back
diligently washing whatever you were washing

standing in the doorway
crossing arms 

suddenly 

possessed by Virginia Woolf
leaning 

golden nectar dripping
"There's something inside the bone...the marrow
...and that's what you gotta get at."
dispassionate intent upon discovery
the reason 

he
is not
you
no desire to connect his molecules
one
to
another
infinite
tender aching
flesh beneath fingers trembling with.....
need?  

want?  

something eternal 
(fuck need
and all its friends)
his back is not your back
and no amount of gin will change that
no desire to press against his back
slipping hands down
          down
down
to 

embrace
release

...welcome home anything
of earth and sea
no compass north pulling
             pulling
me to him

he is not you
his back not as regal
oh sanguine Apollo
his
eyes not seeing
me 

standing here
standing
regarding
tolerating 

this quiet house
my invisibility

gin and juice
odds a thousand to one, two, unbuckle the moon
my head upon your chest once more
home to
earth to
sea
pulling pulling 

leaning into
the doorway