through all the small astonishments

having eyes wide open means not that they necessarily see. it involves nothing except the pull of the bone white moon and, amongst other things, water. through all the small astonishments our imperfections will fall in love. they play with infinity; give each other rings for forever. the broken white shell of the bird's egg; the fragility and the miracle. blood written poems, the sincerity of, touch places dead hands cannot reach. and metaphorical feet that when still keep moving. to arrive, through all the wanderings which were never a rehearsal, almost where you should be.

dear ....., a declaration

in the places where i quietly die,

with fresh eyes i observe the fall of pale petals,

the way they stick to damp and dirty skin.

what a gift the body is;

perfectly lavish in it's abilities and offerings.

'offering' meaning the conscious decision to give;

and things were taken which i most certainly did not give.

for what it's worth i believe nothing dies completely,

things only change shape, a combination of evolution

and stunted growth with flashes of beauty both seen and lived.

we each come from more than some point on a map.

for one to translate us requires the ability

to speak our varying languages.

i turn to the teachers who sing me their hearts,

know mine has love to spare.

a hope..

for my body to remain decorated with flowers
whilst the dirt falls from my thirsty skin.

i hope that my heart continues to burst daily.

i believe the exorcism of shadows will be an exquisite kind of peaceful.

ghosts laid to rest through hearts expressed with all six senses.

with love.

leave.

no more will you determine my fate.

to you, my old familiar whose heart i keep sacred and safe

i question what it means to them in the hope that it will make clearer what it is it means to me; unpick stitch by stitch the lace and the white, look for what's real beneath the froth and connotation to find somewhere along the way in our seach for a sense of permanence we invented a prescription to ease the fear of being alone. but hope crosses her fingers yet takes no responsibility; grows pretty like ivy clinging to the cracks of the stone upon which i lament i cannot write. au contraire to be clothed in skin that whispers dum spiro spero, because i do. but more....

chromatic variations (II)

chromatic variations (I)

~
it's not an exact resemblance, but the journey across the water acts as the wardrobe through which we pass to her always waiting arms; to the place where noise and walls are misplaced and replaced with music and sky. where time is relative in chromatic variations and the smile in her voice is heard through the elements changing in accordance with her mood. she is medicine of the natural kind and she fits me so well......
~
upon the bridge we have crossed many times we sit resting. upon a connection between two points we stop to do more than look. it is here i think maybe you are at your most beautiful. here in the mid-afternoon sun like a god smiling down on his clear water stream with it's diamonds of light. it is here i long to weave the last rays of sun and wear them beneath my cloak of wolfskin to protect you in the line between darkness and light......
~
i wish to shout a proclamation; that no one will hand you your life on a plate. i wish to always remain vulnerable and open to receive. i wish to live every word spoken. i wish to say "this is how we do things now". i wish to say there's always room to change our minds/direction. i wish to remember that the learning and the love is always.