11142011

at the end of a day

we fall asleep one person

and awaken another

11112011

maybe… just so

i will stand at our window today

this white window that knows our shadows so well

and through the dapple of morning light

i will watch as you go about what you do

and think how

sometimes

when we are not bound

arms and legs and mouths

there is still the splendor of you

and its ring inside my senses

like the vibrant chime of a bell

rising

arcing

falling

upon my eyes

waiting

for them to open

to receive

your breath

as if for the very first time

and i will watch

for your ghost

to find our white window

to wander through my body

like a yearning spirit 
wanders through an empty house

11062011

i love the seasons. i love them dearly. they afford an opportunity for change. an opportunity for newness. there is a special delight in seeing new colors. touching new flowers. smelling new airs. there is a psychic explosion of sensuality inside me when the present season departs and the new season enters my life.

but. once upon a time. once. long ago. i lived in a country with no seasons. i did not hate living there. i loved it. i loved it so much, i didn’t notice the missing seasons. life was lived one season all year long. and there was nothing to think about. that was just how it was.

now. many years later. i think about that experience as though i was a victim. as though i was missing something, back then. i wasn’t. but sometimes memories bring with them a certain feeling of wanting to be the victim. just like sometimes they bring with them a certain feeling of wanting to be there again… doing it all over again.

today. there is the feeling of wanting to be the victim. poor me. i lived in a beautiful country with a beautiful landscape and beautiful people… oh, but… i didn’t have my seasons.

let me be the victim, then!

if that will feed something.

just for today.

i will be the victim.

i will be the masochist.

just for today.

i will sit inside

and think about

my no-season life

with self-pity.

and outside,

the leaves will turn,

and change color,

and fly away.

11012011

she told me about her falling dreams.

i listened as she walked around

a clamoring evasion.

and then, right before she left,

a doorknob confession.

one of those,

oh, and by the way…

as if we would not meet again.

as if she owed me a truth

she did not owe herself.