(R + h)^2 = R^2 + d^2

The space is built into the fabric of our passage
held like water calypso & zaffre
untamed in it's waning
waiting becomes the prayer of skin & moonlight
tattooed in silver & sand . . .
wind changes
scent is born
as the ship curves to earth & sky
distance is the ratio of risk to water
divided by
intention
waxing & waning
command & surrender
contentment rising to solitude
hold fast, hold fast
this thread golden in starlight & sorrow
voyages of amber-honey presence -
hold fast
waiting becomes the feathered prayer of fire & air
upon water calypso & zaffre
hold fast  . .

condensation & evaporation

as you
move throughout your day,
if we look close enough,
if we look hard enough
frame by frame
sublimation ...
each movement sparks and sky rockets particles of you
flakes, elements & fragments
of every
pain
every hope every desire every memory .....
float
cascading & tumbling into the air
pulled and drawn into the
blue
into
other fragments and pieces
mingling merging melding fusing
creating
quantum marriages
of indescribable
brilliance,
black veils of melancholy,
chaotic joy
crystalline darkness

and
infinite
lovely
possibility

i am flattened between panes of antique glass
thin, fine glass - imperfect & undulating
sandwiched - pressed
held in place for some mysterious-mercury-reason
held  . .
in . .
place . .
feelings illusive & cloaked
laying pressed & folded-in
holding
yearning for air & the echo of happiness
able to quietly observe this august sky-perfection
but can not touch
or smell,
or breathe in
pressed as an ancient prom flower
cornflower perhaps, or stephanotis
with heather & violets
preserved & held captive
this bell-jar moment echoes of the empty
no scent & breeze . .
color seems distant, removed . . . faded
what contraction of muscle will tip the fragility ?
what contraction of will could free the light &  rhythm ?
do i rest or resist ?
when does  resistance create the glass boundary ?
rock, paper, scissors
pause, rest
await the shift
and prepare to shatter this crystalline cage

July 31

there are no marked days here at the end of July

no birthdays, half-birthdays, appointments, no anniversaries,
nothing stands out
no X on a calendar

2 weeks before my mother died
she
began randomly and with no explanation
marking days off

one X after another
X X X ....

she died 14 days after that first squiggly X

did she know ?

did she have some secret ethereal clue
or was she merely marking the days off
until i was due home for a visit
and
instead

she died

things
shifted
love; jammed & dammed
anger surfaced sharp & deep
cars kept driving, people kept working
and
no one seemed to notice
but me

my dad was in the hospital
recovering from yet another round of normal
congestive heart failure

the night before, we laid side by side in his hospital bed
watching ER
he felt ...
cold

( i can still smell his aftershave)

he woke the next morning

and while sitting on the edge of his bed,
drinking a cup of coffee
he had a massive heart attack and
died

he died

things shifted ~
love; jammed & dammed
anger surfaced sharp & deep
cars kept driving, people kept working
and
no one seemed to notice
but me

those holes are looming
looming for no reason
on these marked days
anger buried
love recovering
they died in October of different years
it feels so long ago

maybe
it is all this rain

the secret of summer. . .

The secret of summer is to find your twelve ....
twelve at the feet of the possible, and at mercy of memory
to breathe in the heat
and
feed it to your soul as if it were the plumpest raspberry
and
time ...
well .... time lounges by a pool blue as Joni Mitchell
and as endless as
well ....
waiting
summer
is
waiting ....
perfectly, saturated & succulent waiting ....

11:47

I talk to you in meter
slow and measured
placing words upon some clock-work scale
3 beats to 7 . . feeling my way thru the labyrinth of weight
how do they feel upon my tongue ?
creamy, soft or tart, hard & jagged ?
are they too sweet, too used, to banal ?
are some too steeped in an ancient realm of weathered time, too faerie ?
some smell sophomoric & nervous, while there are others, hiding
amusedly
erotic & juiced behind a curtain of dark-chocolate velvet
i talk to you through the spaces of my days,
through the turning of the seasons ;
with the spark found mostly in the deep grass of summer,
the electric pause of thunderstorms & the still-quiet-brilliance of snow
which pulls at the fabric of the missing
open & naked
naked ?
what does that feel like against the harsh armor of the expected ?
i am red-onion-layered
intent on stepping aside from story
forcing a pause for just a moment
there ....
upon a bridge made from bird-bones & blue saffron sky
somewhere near the peony nebula
dressed in shades of forest-gypsy silk with
feathers of pheasant & tall red boots
wait .... there
& listen ....
is that a westerly wind rustling the curly willow ?
fierce & determined
clouds building, darkening
rolling, boiling ....
bringing blessed thunder & rain
to shake me loose from moorings of grey
on
this self-preserved bridge ribbon-hung on pink crimson stars
a measured hesitation...
3 beats to 7
it IS too soft, too tart & sharp
too jagged & real
too heavy
words have no place here
welcome thunder - come to shake me loose
from my fragile-avogadro perch
thrusting me to the brink of
the edge ...
a fall
a
spiraling
fall
a
fall
into the piercing light
of knowing
our wounded open
spark

rift . . .

to touch the bottom of the well
again ....
to get messy & bruised
to feel less than & taste acrid defeat
to hold the blossom that is days possibility
or
stroke the weariness of ignorance
and allow the amber fracture to vibrate
again ....
with the stored ache of a thousand years
to the breezed smell of a distant blue-salt-release
hands grasp the carbonate ego'd stone
and
cooling is required
trust & cooling ....