“Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.”
Matsuo Basho
Lost In The Overgrowth
There in that open meadow
We flattened the flora
We created a space that now amplifies the echoes of our calling
A space that there is no way to get back to
Somewhere Deep: Looking Up (Part 2)
I’m gazing up at them now:
the premeditated,
the unplanned,
each one, a unique trajectory.
Oh, the joy of watching the lovers
who resisted
with all their minds’ power
And plunged anyway
Without you
As time would have us
There is little of it left in this pose
Where the you to me is overgrown with speculation
And the in between has more to offer than you ever did.
Somewhere Deep: Overcoming The Edge (Part 1)
All at once, I was bathing in a thermal breeze,
Warming numbness with newness,
Drunk on the swirling color
That still rises from somewhere deep
Flurries of carnal exhaust took the shape of nothing
And the color of everything
Into the Backdrop
In the partial shade or light we could sit there
Could we sit there? Guarded by the color still hanging on?
In sun-pierced red and yellow:
Me on one side, you on the other.
We could forget about the tightrope and explore the light and dark of in between.
This Wanting Space
What exploded in chaotic color
Now has a devoted space on the walls.
Visitors stop to wonder at it,
Connecting with its forms and blushing tone
Translucent (in the age of nothing to lose)
I’ll give you space
In which I’ll grow open and toil with elemental joy and pain
Tend to the timely turning over of soil
Welcome sunlight
Oxygen to Embers
Knowing nothing is what keeps the furnace kindled
Receiving barely enough fuel to maintain a glow
Oxygen to embers
your withdrawal opens up the perfect cleavage for combustion
The more you remove yourself
The brighter the coals
Ognissanti
I'm not ready for immersion but the feeling of these damp steps beneath me will become a perennial part of my being. I lift heavy hands to mouth thinking only about breaking suddenly into from veganism to vegetarianism. I taste nothing new. The sensation of being relinquished and forgotten here, deep in the fall, will stay with me for years.
The season between us
You are autumn
I am spring
Allow me to walk with you
Through winter
I’ll show what’s coming
Hand you bits of bloom
Clothed in Arrival
Further down, on the receiving bank of this bridge
when I’m dripping from the humidity of one of your more sultry days,
You’ll brush my skin with a warm current of memory
And my chest will go on pause-
20 Anni Fa, prima parte
20 anni fa volevo solo scrivere
ma sono andata in Italia ed ho perso la voce.
Occasional bursts of light kept me turning the corner
around and around the inner perimeter of a grave that I had dug;