bright star

bright star
no Moon

swallowed

in the light of the morrow

Moon
Moon
Moon and the girl

She gone supernova

she hopes

When a girl shatters

she don’t always
come back whole

some shards
don’t come back a‘tall

some shards
are a long time comin’

and what do come
fits different

lovelier?
she hopes

Terra Firma slightly tilts

She lay
prostrate, slacking

hands finger-laced holding her
head a-tilt in a cradled home
arched thoracic curve stretched along
her low divan, Great Turtle, a-hoary
old gent ten lives over.

Outward gazes her eyes, upward
are the stars a-bright
night a-lit and knowing
of her wonder
of the universe offered

legs spread long, lean
an akimbo of pointed joints a-journeying
spiny curves of shell

beneath her knees between
tanned calves and toes
painted salmon pink
Terra Firma slightly tilts

curiouser and curiouser
gaze caught by the rush on the globe
she is drawn by the slander
and as quickly drawn away

sorrowfully she goes down in slumber
snail’s pace lulling her slowly

bucket list

I would learn Latin with you.

Nothing says romance
like a dead language.

but for today let me love

bury me not in the earth
but light me whole, a-fire
throw me to the wind
spread me across the water
for on some morrow
I will leave

but for today let me love
fearless in the face of madness
and helpless to deny

this bone cold

stomp stomp
stomp stomp
the earth
and the pulse
of the beat
of my heart
will-ing
to bring
the heat
of the sun
and shy
a-way
this bone cold

a girl cemented

And who would have her
but the mouth of madness
where her hours are eternity
and years span moments

but the gods of youth
and a vigor that adore
in the hours lit darkly
and years that never come.

She, a girl cemented
of worth not that trudges
uphill slipping.

Always, uphill slipping.

but only sometimes

Great Turtle sends me
a longing a long
the hum of the ‘verse
and the echo sadly
draws me to the Terra
where need be
my hands splayed
flat and pressed
joined in Firma.

This concrete kills
me, but only sometimes.

there you stood

There
you stood
in the place where I write
You touched
me when you touched
my things
there.
You asked
If this were where my muse comes to me.
I half-lied, no, wherever.
You creep
into my words
into the being
of my fiber.
Wherever is now
anyplace you are
and my thinking of you
wherever I am.

if you were a god

I have known Hades
I have known Ra
Bacchus, Dionysius
perhaps even Puck…

If you were a god
I would name you
Ragnorok
to my Valhalla
for you are my means
and I am your end.

more suddenly winter

suddenly
the recollecting, the writing
of remembrance and hindsight
of the ideals
of hope
or longing for love life-long
have no merit
when knees weak
from a kiss on the neck
has her a flutter

flutter flutter flutter-by bye
blackbird

more suddenly
winter is not cold