don’t save it.

Heaven is now, my love

it’s 15 shades of green,

soothing my worn sight,

a cup of tea to hold and savor

it’s the sun and moon dancing above,

reluctant to depart from one another

it’s the silence, not only of the land,

but also in my spirit

it’s feeling my freckles absorb the warmth of autumn

and realizing that I’m just a visitor

in an elaborate ecosystem that nourishes and destroys

it’s the morning greeting of a baby tiger

resting against your leg in the shade

I no longer lie to myself: I will not be Happier later than I could be right now.

All I have to do is be here.

This is all there ever is. 

untitled.

he told me to watch the stars,

watch the elongated judgment they pronounce,

the twirling cosmic white powder taunting the fact that

we weren’t strangers enough for me

to even say something in return. 

1977.

I feel like I have very little to offer you - flexible hamstrings if you need a pair.

In this way, I’m forgetting that the magic washing over me, embalming me, expanding my senses when you smile and you speak - is the same that was in the room when my brother and I were born.

I will never tire from hunting that down in everyone I meet. 

haiku 1.

i value silence

you evidently do not

camping sounds pleasant

a haiku for the luteal phase.

i no longer know

maybe loving someone is

leaving them alone

haiku 2.

ive been cleaning up

after men my whole life

might as well get paid for it

for e.

you say them so effortlessly

and I wonder what it was like for you to grow up

without a cage around your tongue.

your father strikes me as a man who raises his voice behind closed doors, 

and yet maybe it was done with you and not toward you.

I’m concocting a story about you and him

because I lack experience from which to draw on.

for s.

I left you two months before your fifth birthday.

I’m remembering the jokes we shared, and how much you laughed with me.

your parents wanted me to describe you and all I could think was: magic.

change of states.

to the few people who have not taken advantage of my kindness: thank you. 

I don’t remember you well enough to draw your face. at some point I stopped being able to distinguish between you and them.

I’m so happy I danced with you the last time we spoke. I’m so happy for all of the things I’ve felt. and I’m happy to be walking on a summer night, long after my bedtime, even though it means losing track of the people I once loved so fiercely.

a mountain of my own.

we stood in the doorway as I received from you a modern benediction

it eloquated of newness and restoration that has already anointed my head

twice I have heard this, twice you have brought me back into a church of sorts, where I know now that I began as whole, blameless and above reproach and the first thing that disjointed my limbs was the idea of a god who found it imperative that we give up our magic willingly over and over again in service of power hungry animals.

these were the ones who warned me of the night prowlers, all the while prowling at night, driving by my house and desperately supplicating, “please, please, god, for all things holy, don’t let her be gay!”

and despite the most earnest of efforts, I remain a mountain of my own, growing trees and flowers and burning away the stale flora of that ancient script.

for b.

I tried calling you by my high school nickname

as if a planned attack could impress your charisma onto my shoulders and back

as if you would be anything like you were promised to be

as if the prayers you offered up for me would be soft in the soil.

Once, at a time of day I can’t remember, I held your face with both my hands.

Has the intonation of your voice always been so young and wanting? 

dreamscape.

i keep waking up with angry red burns on my stomach,

and I’m wondering how you’re able to sneak in at night and press them into my skin without waking me.

you’ve always been the type to grovel, but I didn’t think it would come to this,

a constant revenge

an ethereal reminder

a swelIing storm

untitled.

My best trait

is that I’m able to look into your eyes with all the confidence of someone being looked at for the first time

with all innocence and thou shall not be jealous and the un-existence of other.

I’m perpetually waiting to undress next to you, with you, close enough to you that some of your incomparable being might transmit to me.

Will I ever float on my own doubt?

Are any of the things you asked for want?

Rustling past locked doors of openly believing I could be yours.

I knew I could find you here, but I failed to anticipate that you would be more independent than me.

I’d bite your raw, upside down neck any day.

Your best trait

is that you’re able to tap into the side of me that would take the time to look into your eyes with all the confidence of someone being looked at for the last fucking time. 

love letter.

why not decide to flourish now

when the skies are dark

when the humidity chokes

when the mind is speeding towards

whatever it takes to blow up your life

you can notice how tall you’ve grown and how bright your skin and the grace with which you extend each limb

and there is silence

untitled.

there’s no such thing as time

there is only now

and the sand will forgive your steps if you allow her to

holiday.

i set out a cup.

i set out two cups.

well, thermoses really.

and tried not to imagine cold drops of river water cascading down your pale shoulders.

the same ones I’m waiting to sink my teeth into. 

untitled.

Of course we are here- begging to be seen, hoping we’re more important than stars. In the shimmering death of blackberries, and as a sky clears after a dark snow there is defiance, breath and body in upheaval and ruin. Of course we are here- choosing to spend our magic in caves as cave-dwellers. 

earnest.

Here I am trying to create something.

Have you been creating?

And will you yet do away with the rules about creation you have inherited?

You’re a tombstone, a hieroglyphic, a heritage tree

and you think no one is willing to pause and read some sonnet about all that you are?

observations.

I left the window open in my loft nearly the summer long. It didn’t serve me in any way beyond portaling some of the cool air in at night, the few nights it was cool.

and I looked at you today and felt your frustration in a way that no one who is alone should have to feel. at the very least, I knew this time it had nothing to do with me.

this is the only way I know I am changing with the misty Oregon season: I think two thoughts instead of one and they contradict each other.

and I think that if I told a therapist this story, she would say I’m managing it well, but I hope she would be able to see past my face and know how violently I long for life beyond management.

for evelyn.

strawberry jam is being on the farm

at the breakfast table, in this case the supper table to make room for everyone who came by this morning

but not before climbing onto the hard-backed bench to find what she hid while we were still asleep

the cats will congregate at the door stoop

and I’m guessing she saved them something too

she called me on the phone when I left

and I wanted to understand her.

Image courtesy of Mark McBrearty