For The Wall:
But I am afraid –
Sewn into this dress, with nothing but scissors
and idle hands.
View of the Lake
I watch the way love layers over the years,
living a lifetime along the lake:
the sentimental places
we go for beauty
and go to again –
fresh eyed and first
each time rediscovering a sliver of wonder in the way the ripples of black lick up moonshine and droplets of stars,
bare bulbs on a spiderweb wire shoe-lacing together the ironwork lanterns and ringing in stray oaks.
The birds flocking home
to nature’s lovemaking – hungry and forceful,
belligerent and sweet webbed feet and bobbing breasts, half-dreaming of coin-covered fish glinting in the cool algae.
See the dewey grass where I lost my pulse under his fingertips and kissed until we sunburned and locked our foreign languages together.
The inviting dock end with wood that creaks and pushes the grasping wet to-and-fro in small splashing enthusiastic greeting,
where after the masquerade he took me by the hand and pulled me into a clumsy waltz.
How the stillness of the black melted at the edges and stars seamlessly surrounded us, overhead and under foot in a perfect sphere.
Just as with each first kiss we rediscover the shape of our own intentions.
The tugging thread of nostalgia
Swept up and woven
Into the new seasons of an evolving tapestry.
Oh how love layers,
like rings in a tree.
Oh, irreplaceable, irresistible,
wrapping the heartwood with expanding skin,
I whisper I love you to the dark murky water,
And feel the pangs of a dozen missing persons,
a hundred nights and days –
Shapeless and nameless longing
That sinks to the bottom of the lake.
plays the guitar so slowly, purposefully,
like a blind romantic might hold a kiss,
Amaurophilia. Lygerastia. Audiophile.
The spaces between notes are just as much
as the sound that clears them away.
Those gaps between her knuckles are just as much her hands
as the shyly eager fingers that
knit together around his when he’s occupying them.
Close your eyes and feel the vacancy between strings,