1,000 i love you's, for 1 single disdain.

living water.

forgiveness is the most beautiful thing i've ever seen.
and mercy that heals moves me to wells.
to tears.

bathseba.
rahab.
mary.
me.

dealing with the inevitable, dealing with the worst

death brings us to our knees,
it is incomprehensible,
the stench pervasive.

we try to hide under blankets
but our toes betray
what we have to give away.

it rots away at the living,
haunting us in fear
and finding us in
at our most honest:
we're dying.

it's incomprehensible.

i need sleep and a new potted plant.
horticulture is the best way to rest.

G-D, II

even in your mystery,
show yourself.

G-D

why do you love me?

--you're the only thing that lets me breathe.

a plea-

come out from hiding and let yourself be known.
the shame is only terrible in darkness.
light, find me,
find us.
make us clean.

death, not life

my cat is dying.
death is never pretty, no matter how unattached you are to it.
today she urinated all over herself, and now spreads the stench wherever she goes.
it isn't pleasant.
death, though the end of life, would be a relief.
the end of something awful,
something ugly,
a dying life.

reflections from lunch

i don't like rules
i mostly just like love.
oh, let the safety of your touch envelop and hold me as i venture into new discoveries about
me and you.
an art
to examine and wonder about.
oh, let your peace protect as i, for the first time, undress from protection.

"your naked skin suits you,
it frames your eyes, brings out your hair.
your naked skin fits like it was made for you."

unfettered.

there was always so much to be afraid of,
but i don't mind being alone any longer.
at least i know that in living alone,
i am still living.

more.

giving away the acceptable in search of her soul.

after three years, she kindly gave back everything he offered.
bare brick lofts, promenades, diamonds in a skyline.
and slipping out of her ill-fitting uniform, discovered the colour of her flesh.
slipping into the atlantic, she discovered her laughter.

but,

love is freedom.

Love asked me to be patient,
So I'm here,
Waiting for you
To come home
And come back to me.
Come back to me.
I'm waiting for you,
As patiently as love allows.

I feel your stare.
Is that scary?
We are so utterly lonely.

"That's the biggest thing in life, you gotta get rid of the fear."

rise to greet us

intricate strings entangle or enfold.
let mystery sing you a lullaby.
let life wake you gently with kisses,
steady on the forehead
one for each minute,
one for each moment.
we were only hiding
to know that we were missed,
to see love rise to greet us
in our return.

love

it is careful.
a delicate, precise
placement of flowers,
arranging a bouquet.
setting a glass down with care.
keen eyesight knowing where
lines and angles
meet perpendicular.
it is slower
than traffic
and busy small talk.
than the drag
putting out the final light.
it is mixing cobalt with ash
to make the sea
and its breeze
brushing past
every noticed hair.

i'm slower than the rest to say hello. but i have not fallen behind.
i have been waiting for you this entire time.

daylight savings time

i'm about to say something very simple, and i don't mind so much being simple as long as it's not confused with being simple-minded.

i just changed my light bulbs.
i had had a headache all day,
and then, frustrated with darkness,
i unscrewed the fixture and replaced the bulbs.

sudden illumination.

i hardly need to say that my headache is gone and i am much happier.

daylight savings is my favorite day out of the year.
the sunset over the river,
a glass of sangria,
a steady zephyr:
all finally available after work.

i love light.

i won the war.

i walked outside
and smelled something familiar.
it was the same mixture in the air
of earth and water and warmth
as on the night you told me you were coming.

i used to walk up and down the hudson,
looking at her liberty,
waving a light along side of her,
just to let you know you were almost there,
in case you were growing tired.
i used to call out on the docks,
on nights like these,
when you told me you were coming,
"i am waiting for you,
i will never tire of waiting."

you never came.
the voyage was rough
and treacherous.
the seas weren't calm,
they did not part for you,
or carve a path for you in their crests.
they put up blockades and told you that
even if you won this battle,
you would still loose the war.

not one aquatinted with loosing,
you about-faced.
the sea welcomed you back
into familiar navigation.
you no longer had use for bravery
or even a compass,
but you were proud.
your final letter was full of your pride.

falling out of love was more wretched
than falling in.
consistent with gravity,
i fought a loosing battle,
climbed myself out of the hole,
resisted against the pulling force.
it was wretched to upheave my heart from
the soil;
my roots had grown deep.

i walked outside
and smelled something familiar.
it was the same mixture in the air
of earth and water and warmth,
the secret smell of daffodils announcing
that they are just beneath the surface.
they are ready to chime their bells.

and i stood to greet them.
scarred and wounded,
having won the war.

cotton

i want to say that you are like cotton.

like cotton balls flying through the air, with the breeze,
always with the breeze.

i want to say that you are like cotton,
not because you stuff or suffocate,
but rather,
because if i could collect you,
i mean really collect all the pieces of you that i catch in my day,
i'd throw them in a big vat,
or bed frame.

bit by bit i'd collect and pile pieces of you
until it was full:
full & overflowing with pieces of cotton
plucked from out of the breeze.

and then i'd lay in it.

and be surrounded by as much of you as I could possibly hold at one time.

and you,
being soft and Comfort,
would hold me too.

bookstore

i tend to lust-

it started with
little things,
a flower
or pocket of knowledge,
and grew into stories,
a love song wriiten for-
it should have been-
me.
by now,
it's expansive.
i think about it
in the poetry section
of my local bookstore as i
let words wash over me
like water from a fountain
over my tongue
without ever swallowing.
caught in a sea of surplus
exposing your intimate scribbles
for my sensations
i remain
thirsty
not wanting to leave
but still fleeing into my own
canvas,
into fiction.

-colours flush

i solemnly promise to never stop fighting for life.