Sunday, August 18, 2013

I am what touches

I am what touches
the land, what smells
the oceans and tastes
heaven. I'm what hears
what we have seen,

or how the birds see
overseas. I've touched
rivers and I've heard
trees that can smell
Sunlight. I taste

God like flowers taste
soft rain. I am seeing
the ground that smells
rich. I have touched
her limits and I hear

the breath I heard
before I could taste
anything. She touches
me now that I see
how divinity feels.

Sunday, August 4, 2013

Eventually, I will turn to dust

Eventually, I will turn to dust,
leaves will dissolve, bindings rust,
and words will not look the same.

Throughout the course of awful time
my grammar will not fall in line,
and scientists won't know my name.

Despite my simple turning pages
no one will remember the ages
when I had a legitimate claim.

Before the valley of oblivion
I'll apprehend the dull horizon
that wanders toward a timid flame.

Yet, the mysteries of eternity
have made confusion very plain.

At first, we know the very road

At first, we know the very road
that winds toward the quiet mountain;
the ribbon of footprints, the broad
blue sky that no thought can contain.

And then, we know the silent clothing
stirring underneath the fountains;
the heaven that abstractly glows
beyond the limits land maintains.

At last, we know the cloud floating
above what we have known for certain;
the unsure pathway, the bulky coat
that falls over her like a curtain.

Finally, we are pilgrims who know
that the way must remain uncertain.

Saturday, August 3, 2013

She's standing there. Her face is upside-down

She's standing there. Her face is upside-down
And a couple rocks are scattered in the water.
It's black and white. Her feet are in the sand
That holds the memories of land. She's looking
Through the doors of my mind and down into
My heart in ways I can't explain. Her dress
Is loose and she hides behind another veil.
She's terse around the waist and she's balanced
Delicately on two legs. She's standing there.
The earth knows her toes, the ocean knows
The craggy cliffs, and the air knows her face.
I'm wondering what is lost when an image
Captures her, resolves her to a few colors,
And selects only a few things to frame.

Friday, August 2, 2013

It was your lovely eye

It was your lovely eye
that bound me. The halls
of tears became the doors
to woe. The Sun's passage
seemed to be the way
of misfortune. My heart
was clear, and my heart's
suffering began with eyes
of pity. I went on my way
securely through the halls
and fearless passages.
Love went through doors,
and I was caught in halls
whose rays turn the eye.