I Did Not Look Away: A Poem

 
 
I Did Not Look Away
When you
looked at me,
crossed the border
into the new country
with slow,
 careful steps; the
stone beneath your
feet sighing, gasping.
I was made of
water—pooling all
 around you, unable
to be held.
and you with
the soft scent of rain
on your skin.

Born Again (a poem)

I dreamt I awakened
at your side—
thin film of a sheet
cool against my skin

light the color of
water spilled
through the shade,
broke like rain

against the curve of
your body, shattering the
mask I wear. sharp,
intake of breath

like that time you
surprised me in
the elevator; opening
my eyes to

beauty, right
there in four square
walls. your rounded,
bare shoulder dappled

in liquid light as you
slept. I reached out
and touched the
heat of your arm

traced the curve
of your face.
when you opened
your eyes

the world was new
and the light of
creation spilled from
your irises

everything was new
everything was new

The Invitation: a poem


I went for a walk and arrived at a stone bench. Someone had left a message for me.
two stones
on the corner of
the bench; one,
smooth, round.
the other, dark
with sharp edges.
a walking stick—
knobby and skinned
of bark, leaned
against the rounded
lip of the seat.
an invitation.

April Fools

church windows
It snowed
on the first of
April and I
slept through the
sunrise; clutched
dreams tight to my
chest. rest, you
said, when my
eyes tried to flutter.
rest. I awakened
to find that heaven
had let down her
hair—those pearled
strands of gossamer 
thread striving
for the earth. you
came home early
and we walked
through tendrils—my
feet wet but
bivouacked under 
love,  my
bare hand was
warm in yours and
the earth slurped
deep from the
frozen drink of
the April fools.

New Year’s Eve: Poem


We’ve walked
this long, mean street
365 days in a row—
true. Each one folded
out like the one before;

rows of windows are
vacant eyes, dusty
corners and sidewalks
lay strewn with broken bits
of hope. We tread these days,

step across the brim of time
and trust is putting one foot
in front of the other. I see light
move like a stream out
of you—fall into a river

that rushes to the ocean and
the sky breaks open and we
are shingled in starlight … we
pick our way through shining
orbs, feet light with dreams. All

that is behind is dark, and
before us, only light.