An instrument that tracks the wandering word

An instrument that tracks the wandering word
across the heavens, the instruments we use
to represent ourselves. The architectures
of the churches, shrines, and temples, of

her body in the light. See how the spirit
moves through her limbs? See how breath articulates
the lover's separation? How can I make
her into music? The flowers are instruments

of color and of fragrance, I see her hair
dance in the wind. The water becomes a mirror
for the sky as the song becomes a mirror

for the soul. I can hear the trembling sound
she makes when she is vibrated, the sighs
that aren't words but communicate something.

Lover, I can hear the crackling sound

Lover, I can hear the crackling sound
of kindling in the fireplace. I smell your
cocoa in the mug, the way the brown scarves
cascade across your body. Let me see

the fog come out your mouth the way the night
brings moisture to the morning. Lover, I
can see beyond your eyes, you're like the Sun
and in your white there is each different color

painting surfaces. Lover, the floor-boards
of the cabin creak and I see the lines of
growth in the brown wood. Outside the cold

is blowing in the trees, the birds are wandering
the early autumn sky. Lover, I need you
within me like the warm blood in my veins.

She's just suggested by the color of

She's just suggested by the color of
the light that rises. I think about the Sun
and how it moves, how the old rishi tracked
her movements. Think of all the scattered phonemes

in the past, the ripples on the ocean
that are the Buddha's sutras. I look out
into the distance, see the dim horizon
lose its color. The little flecks of light

that reflect from her eyes, the way her thigh
is of a certain texture. I can feel
her gaze the way the pastures feel the light

that pours through the blue clouds. She is suggested
by disordered vowels, I become impressed
by her form though I do not know its limits.

Tried to say she wasn't even crazy

Tried to say she wasn't even crazy,
tried to say she had a few ideas
I didn't have. I met her in the air,
or in a space that I'd imagined. When

she took a breath the whole world sighed about
the trees. I tried to say she didn't know
what death was, what I knew, or how to see
the light the water reflects. She tried to

turn her body like a cloud, she tried
to move over the land like weather. I
can't lose my mind cause I don't have one. She

impressed me with her madness, I had looked
in all the shelves of libraries. It's said
that the mad are the only true lovers.

Disoriented by the images

Disoriented by the images,
the colors bouncing off her, all the lines
and shapes that make the picture. The abstract
recedes above the pasture, I can see

the lines her calves make in the water of the
bayou. I can smell her sex as it moves
through the air like pollen. I can't figure
what the limits of her are, the mathematics

governing her motion. Love makes nonsense
of me daily, is the maddening agent
that ends my life. What is it I am becoming

in this whirl of movement? Did I start
as a coherent image only to descend
into a chaos that is enlightening?

The way the tree has opened up its arms

The way the tree has opened up its arms
to greet the light, the way the branches move
when breezes pass, the way the leaves make sound
when birds are moving. I can hear the nests

they build in the young evening, I can hear
the frogs that eat the bugs, the little lizards
that crawl above the roots. Now I have seen
the heavens turn, the planets whirl and her

bare breast, her sure white skin and how she uses
her mouth to speak and love. The trees are seeds
and lovers, beings with a heart that know

the calendars of light. I'm seeing her move
her arms, her branches in the morning and
her breath is a breeze that is making sound.

O love disorient me like a text

O love disorient me like a text
I can't decipher! Be the lines of words
and narratives imbued with meaning, be
a mystery. O love be like the sky

without an instrument of measure, be
the spectacle without a Sun. I look
into the blue expanse, the Moon has waned
and waxed before me. Love make me nonsense

in this world of meaning! The Sundial
is made to read the light, the grammar of
the spheres and heavens. O love intoxicate

me with your surfaces! Make me no longer
one self separated! O love make me
none but the whole turning Universe!