I pulled down the velvet night, and every silver bloom that comes from the moonlight. I followed you with my luminous secrets, and watched you till I knew you were my own corner of universe. I knelt before you in wonder and lay my only gifts before you. I knew I was your universe too as you turned all my silver into gold.

I have many important things to say, but they will have to wait til later….

Now I will crawl under my rock and think about the one I love and the one I no longer love and wonder for the thousandth time Just when did my wise heart become so blind 

My heart is torn in two 

Never to heal in the way we think of healing: repaired. 

But to remain with one piece missing from now til…the end of heart-feel, heartbeat. Does that end, even as our blood stops and bones go cold? Does the love stop? Or the grief? We can only truly grieve something or someone we truly love. 

So, I think, I will remain split 

THE SHELL

An open sandy shell
on the beach
empty but beautiful
like a memory
of a protected previous self.

The most difficult griefs,
ones in which
we slowly open
to a larger sea, a grander
sweep that washes
all our elements apart.

So strange the way
we are larger
in grief
than we imagined
we deserved
or could claim

and when loss
floods into us
like the long darkness it is
and the old nurtured hope
is drowned again,
even stranger then
at the edge of the sea,
to feel the hand of the wind
laid on our shoulder,

reminding us
how death grants
a fierce and fallen freedom
away from the prison
of a constant
and continued presence,

how in the end
those who have left us
might no longer need us,
with all our tears
and our much needed
measures of loss
and that their own death
is as personal
and private
as that life of theirs
which you never really knew,

and another disturbing thing,
that exultation
is possible
without them.

And they for themselves
in fact
are glad to have let go
of all the stasis
and the enclosure
and the need for them to live
like some prisoner
that you only wanted
to remain incurious
and happy in your love,
never looking for the key,
never wanting to
turn the lock and walk
away

like the wind,
unneedful of you,
ungovernable,
unnamable,
free.

 

BETWEEN THE LINES

BETWEEN THE LINES

I want you to pay attention
to the

spaces, the silences, the pauses,
the gaps between the words,
the white of the page behind the black of the ink,
the calm that holds the chaos that spins through
this ever-turning world and I want to remind you of
the beauty of the unspoken,
the sweetness of the unresolved,
the invisible screen that holds the light and the shade
and the mystery that permeates everything,
the mystery that reads these words now,
and pays attention
to the

spaces, the gaps, the pauses,
the endings that begin
new conversations,

and the stillness
that envelops it all

so i wept. golden you

hey golden you. singing me golden….yet turning me to blue.

i wept, but only on the inside, for every time i let the tears flow, i knew i’d never begin to touch the grief stored like a stuffy, vibrating safe inside my heart. the grief that cannot be uttered it is so heavy. lengthy. full of lies. full of remorse, and regrets you always tell me not to feel.

vomit would be more a true expression than tears. i now know, as a little girl knows her tattered doll collection, what they mean when they say “grief-sick”. I don’t vomit, although I feel as if I will most waking hours of the day, and some sleeping. each dream is punctuated with harrowing cry. i wake to this cry, struck, startled, head-dumb, scarred ( i wish i were numb.), again and again that the nightmare of awake is worse than the ever-piling nightmares of sleep.

as you lay on my chest in the painted canyon.the only place I imagined myself to be.chords lushly defining me.birds, plentiful, come pouring from my throat, they are a song manifest for only you and me. the canyon echoed its approval as it layered the harmonies. and I sang to you: 

You are my child, you are my lover

First, sighs of being your lady all my life

He says he’d love to live with me

But for an ancient injury 

That has not healed

He said I feel once again

As if I gave my injured heart too soon

He stood looking through the mist 

At the face on the conquered moon

And counting all the stars brushing the hill

As he did one night through the lace dusting my window sill

There were still more reasons why I loved him

He was my joy, he was my sorrow 

Now he wants to run away and hide

He says our love cannot be real

He cannot hear the pealing of the ancient canyon’s bells

But you know it’s hard to tell

When you’re in the spell if it’s wrong or if it’s real

But you’re bound to lose

If you let the blues get you scared to feel

And now I feel like I’m just being born 

Like a hint of light breaking through the long storm

There were still more reasons why I loved him