the rise of you again [poem]

a new old light in my smile
why
was it the kiss of the man I was meant to
be with
who I kissed almost first, and who I’d love to 
kiss last
the strangeness in our mouths, a welcome home to
our bodies
perhaps it’s when we stop performing proving and decide 
on settling
into the sweetness of a human life, without pushing back at who
we were
all along he was him leaning into life his way, and still there is so much
I don’t know
and there was I was, over there, and there, and there, and here, and there, never 
stopping long 
and maybe now I hear a gentle letting go in knowing not all this life can or should be lived in
this moment
it’s perfect to accept what is, what isn’t, what comes, and what must go because not every little thing
can be
what would I sacrifice, asked the wanderer to me, for the chance to let love be sewn onto my soul for a long while
everything
I know as I let it rest, which isn’t really rest at all because in this mind and life of no casual affair at all, I cannot let it rest when
it must be
I know that my heart my body and my spirit longs for a long adventure into quiet expectations giving and receiving for once without demand
lay with me
a while upon this frozen earth under those red oaks and beech holding onto leaves beside a small hemlock poking through the pines near the flowing river
and let us see
what comes in this life wherein we’ve circled round each other time and time and time again never ever saying goodbye with fire in our eyes and anger in our bones
because love is
and kindness comes and comes, continues to come and ravage my soul as it always does yours and fingernails on flesh and mouths on necks and breasts in your hands and mine
being held by you
is the most
exciting 
thing
I
know

yes to that man, i said [poem]

soft, the marvel of love, too soft
but hard is the copybook of reason

if I may have one for my body
it should be a soft lover, one willing to
rub rub rub the soles of my feet
couldn’t have a life of hard scraping tries from a man who
doesn’t know quite how to love a woman

but better yet, a man of both
a lover of rhyme and reason
i’ll rub my own, he’ll build me a home
using feathers, warm wax, and gloves
to soften the blows of his natural way
of love

yes, i’m in, my love

(hafiz)
oh thou who are trying to learn
the marvel of love
through the copybook of reason
i am very much afraid
you will never see the point

you sexy crescent moon [poem]

you hook me with your tip
as i’m driven under you and inside
madness, taxi, tuk tuks, Delhi

you do not hide
from faces of women in dupattas, men in turbans, cows dawdling
dead on the roadside

look into me, you sexy crescent moon
low, gazing wildy, heart and hara, hot and pricked
just above sugarcane fields forever

are you waxing, are you waning? will you fade or light me up?
i’ll worship and adore you, you sexy crescent moon
feed me, guide me, suck me up

i lie on my side, see you resting, glowing, offering sight to me
bronze face tilts to the heavens, round pout
we’re purple in our humanness

beloved effortlessly seduces his lover, who loves to give herself to him
…cosmic and only time will tell…

i rise in your darkness, offer you my light
round and round and round and round
you sexy crescent moon

first night in india, taxi delhi to rishikesh // march 2014, refurb november 2020

a man with a grill beside a colorado creek [poem]

his eyes amber green orange and yellow
his mouth soft and brown
so shiny as he spoke to me from behind a grill
El Salvadorian golden teeth, german nose
hooked with a mole on the right, a mirror to mine

speaking hot and dry along the colorado creek
telling me of magic, he’s painting us a story
of a gardener, our age, was cursed with visions, feelings and sensations
of burning, like flames, on his handsome skin

for 30 days, he willed the gods to save him
sat under a waterfall, pounding in his mind, begging of the water
to offer daggers of protection, kill and shield the noise
bring peace silence stillness—a life in the mundane
freedom from the chains of knowing

it’s been 16 years of quiet from the fire in his mind

        but never, ever, in his sleep
        each night he opens a door
        to the purple blue light sky
        elders circle boom of energy, no form
        three hundred of them welcome friends at the fire

eyes open in our morning world, unconcious, hard, and dense
        in spaces of our own
        we try to touch

i ask him if he asks them things
        my ego want to know
doesn’t he a responsibility to tell me

        did he go back to sleep?