Tag Archives: men

Open Ocean

20 Mar

When I woke up, it smelled like someone was making breakfast.
Some things, I’ll never understand.

I’m not going to cry.

I’ll get up.
Dress comfortably well.
Go have tea and oats.
Organize my life for tomorrow.
Sit, dream and watch people.

If there was a dart to throw at one point of the world
where the flower of dreams blooms,
I could attach a strand of red wool
and chain stitch toward the plotpoint of
where I’ll find you.

But for now it’s tea and oats
and forgetfulness in focus,
shuffling tiny stacks of details
like sand bars to navigate before
open ocean.

And I’ll leave this treasure map
unfixed or finished.
Because finding one’s way
is never smooth nor even
especially when light becomes
more precious than the prize.

January 15, 2018

Not Yet

13 Mar


On morning winterwakings
sometimes I speak
into the cold quiet
to break the breath of the comatose air,
a Lazarene call
under quilted cloth and doubt.
“Don’t think to Spring,” I whisper,
“to sparrows in the redtree,
to when earth opens for Love and tears.
Right now is not leaving you.
Each Janus breath flows shallowblue
over his cold shoulders
and your warm feet.
Lie like a cold seed,
a promise,
covered in a coat
of bitterblack.
Let the numbed edge of wasted word and expectation
bruise, blacken and fall
from your collar and cuff.
Look up.
Cheer the last leaf on the limb
still waving welcome at dawn.
If she can greet the heatless sun drybrown in breathless praise,
you can, one green morning
unfurl a slim arm
and catch her
final fall.

January 10, 2018



12 Dec


I do not measure
my heart in sunrise
and sunset,
though the glory
of colorcoming
and lightleaving plays it’s part
in the drama of days.
But in leaf and limb,
inhaling and exhaling.
In spans of inevitable green
and glorious gold
before fallingdoubt and near deathsleeping.
I learned to love
from oaks
who know this secret,
a faith coded into their ringbones
repeating return.
They keep the soft velvet
the touchbend and retreat
from sky, a clockcase
full of
freedom and foreboding.
Yet adore the sun,
like a fickle lover
here one day, gone the next,
needing and abiding equally.
Damned delicious sun!
Longing is to sigh again, green.
What can they do
but live,
dressed in lush love
or bear quiet cold
in naked dignity.
till his return?

Extra Longer

5 Nov



Things I hope you will love
extra longer:

Sitting in dark velvet quiet,
another world flickering and blue in front of you
both hand in hand,
remember the feel of rough fingers
like the bended fold
of a thick linen envelope.
Entwine arm in arm.
Save the date of the moment and
linger longer
than you might,
one moment maybe
just for me.

When the shower
cascades in percussive rounds
like a trembling cahone
off the rock of his beloved body,
listen a little longer
to water
singing the curve
of a road often traveled
by your once hot heart.
Catch the last note of the
stream like the intoning bell
calling All to notice
the moment,
each your gift.

Gather one drop
for me.

By the nape of his neck,
let your eyes fall like autumn shadow
over the dark slope
of tender openness,
let your view drape across
muscle bending toward the heat of collar
and brave bone.
Lean in.
Place your mouth there
extra longer,
tasting the gratitude in sweatmaking.
Roll onto a nightslept pillow
full of scent and salted musk,
breath him
in like a Second Coming.
He’ll return.
He always does.
Have you noticed,

So when your hand finds the moss
covered cage of sinew and heart beat beneath
listen a little longer
for the rest of us;
our longing hovers above you like
a haint blue porch ceiling
Don’t you dare forget a miracle.
Cause you carry dreampromise
in your limbs and loving
like an autumn wind warning
the fury of frost
and lost leaves.

Taking Space

4 Oct


Five out of twenty nine.
As if with each caulked casement
leaving there is more room,
the air itself a rushing
love for lungs to drink.
Each cracked pane, each broken rope, each curling lip of lead
paint wrapped, carted away.
Wavy panes of perceiving
held together by bracing and time,
removed. Each day,
while I’m not watching.
Sometimes you don’t watch.
You lie still
and notice
when the house is opening,
and the dreams are leaking out somehow
like breadcrumbs for the Divine
to follow, gather,
and bring back to your bed
like lovebreath whispers
in the early light.

Quizzing Glass

24 Sep

Her eyes said to the professor,
Why don’t you stop studying me and
be with me.
And then she was grateful
to have become so very
not something buried then
a curiosity for
But like a live oak,
limbs and leaves flush with green,
hung with soft sighing hair,
he was just unable to see
beyond the glass
in his own.

Texts Not Sent #57

18 Sep


Begins so casually.
Is there a Biscuitville where you are?
she starts to type.

And do you like
egg, cheese, and tomato buttered biscuit
Sunday midmornings
after coffee, after pajamas, after loving,
curving together half a dream in soft
tangles of limbs and lips,
after the first waterblue moment of quiet room,
noticing that three inches
from the bareness of
the back
of your neck
there is heat and beating heart under
the vulnerability of skin and vein
alive with the sound of oceanbreath…

Her thumb above the arrow.
And memory quietly said,
not to.

This is for Anyone who has Ever Lost Someone

10 Aug

This is for anyone who has ever lost someone:

You do not own the leaving.
You share loss
because you are loved.
spreads it’s watery wake
like a quilt over a coffin.
Too little comfort over a container
of what
needs answering before it’s buried
to dissolve.
It’s not that people really tire
of your long grief,
a slow low dissonant hum of unraveling.
It’s that the fraying of this patchworked shroud between us
reveals edges of other coffins,
slowly decaying in the corners
of their own heart’s attic.
They’d rather not see.
They’d rather not feel.
You do not have to get over it.
Only wait for there to be
nothing left but holy dust
on the shrine of your soul.
One day a gentle wind
will shift ever softly
and be enough.


20 Apr

“All you need is Jesus. He will fulfill all your needs, honey;  don’t you know that?”

“Love yourself completely. No one can love you unless you love yourself first.”

“When you give up the desire, it comes.”

“Accept what is and you will achieve peace.”

“Surrender, and then God will take care of the rest.”

“Love is Universal. There is no difference between types of love. It comes from everyone.”

“Accept people for who they are. Love their imperfections. Be the bigger person and love them no matter how they treat you.”

“You are only alone because you want to be. Nobody gets what they want.”

“They are men. Seriously, grow up.”

“When you aren’t looking, then the right person arrives. Stop Looking. ”

“If you build it, they will come.”

“Maybe be a little less confident. You know, men have fragile egos.”

“When you fix your thoughts, then the world changes. If you look at this negatively then it will be. Try to see the gift.”

“Everything is a lesson. What are you learning?”

“Be grateful. You could be in Syria.”

“All you need is yourself, babe.”

“Each day is an opportunity to start again. Don’t worry. It’s NEVER too late!”

“The only person holding you back is you. If you’d stop seeing the negative then you’d be happy.”

“If you move yourself into a place that feels the way you want to feel, then it doesn’t matter if what you want arrives.”

“Just join a ladies group. You’ll make good girl friends.”

“Suffering is pain times resistance. Make friends with the pain. Be with it. Stop resisting. Look at its texture and then your thinking about it will change. “

. . .said everyone (renunciate or householder)

already beloved of a calling,

of children,

of friends and family

of one other, above the rest.

Sharing the anchor of hands

within the deep fathomed current,

they toss toward me a wrinkled lifering of advice

about the dry dustshadow space in my heart,

an anomalous magnetic pull

bending its own needle toward a something nothingness.

This is the place where you should be

the one I want beside me,

our soul’s wisdom heaped like seed in a sack,

of hope to sow the world.

I’m not looking for completion.

I’m hungry for evolving into more,

swinging free of the pull of this black hole.


I never saw a starving man bow to bless

a dry plate upon which he must blame himself

for there being no bread.

No bread.

No fault.

That’s what Is.

Mercy is not found in gravity.

Pasion de la Cocina

7 Mar


Tonight I crave the rice you made,
the grains popping in the singing oil,
musica latina tangled in your hair,
dancing barefoot in the kitchen
amid sizzling clouds of comino y cebolla
and curling swells of culantro
as green and hot as your coyote eyes.
Your caramel lips,
cafe con leche cushions
parted for kissing,
whispered delicious songs
into the fragrant rind of my ear.
Reaching melodious chords
around my waist,
and down my thigh,
sang of stirring the sweetness and heat
of my own beautifulness,
like palming the round of a glass
to warm the spirit,
like rubbing the rim with one wet finger
to hear it sing.


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