Which Is Where We Are Now

  • I

    Of this vast, radiant universe,
     I am of but one star.
    Would the panoply be
     precious strewn
     were not each glimmer a signal of richness?
    Of the multitude of criaturas on this round world,
     I am but one being.
    Would humanity be
     a proud species
     were not each a beacon?
    I count my cells,
            my breaths,
            my sunrises and sunsets,
            my schemes and dreams,
            my depths and feelings,
            my world that I take up
               and embroider.
    Each human is created from other humans,
    each star from stars.
    I have craved to be more human, more starry.
    I let it be
    and the riches without
     are become within.
    I beg no more.
    Let me digest what I partake in.

    II

    Those indiscretions I was so careful to demur,
    they are for the taking.
    The paltry world bursts into color.
    My so-called evil is humane life.
    Everything is good like it should be.
    My heart grows in this soil.
    The evil name-calling drove me to starving;
    I was desperate enough to take what ill-suited me.
    What suits me is enough;
     perhaps everything
      in its own place.

    III

    Universe, thank you for the flash flood
     that canceled the trains
     that got me back to the metro
    where I find myself
     as the sunlight streams
     sitting behind two young friends
    one with a freckled shoulder
     bare but for straps, black camisole over scarlet bra,
     and a head whose mane is wild multi-colored orange,
    and the other saying
     “I have seen a lot of things, too…”
     from the back of her neck’s tattoo.

    IV

    Abundance

    –––––––

    7 Jul 2013
    heart book
  • At the forest’s edge
     the sky is half stars,
     half a fête of fireflies.
    I tread step-by-step into the darkness
     and there is silent celebration.
    A glow streaks beside me
     as high in the branches pulse living lights.
    At the darkest spot, I stop and gaze;
     the path opens to the sky;
     layers of trees quietly host spectacle.

    Independence Day

    –––––––

    5 Jul 2013
    dragonfly book
  • Stepping into Rock Creek,
     the name becomes obvious.
    I hop from slab to slab and wonder, but
     the journey reveals the river.
    I perceive the small stones’ certainty.
    I throw my weight into it
     and befriend gravity;
     rocks far off come within my leap.
    I commit myself bodily over water;
     amid the momentum,
     I bound upon the unveiling path.

    Bounding

    –––––––

    20 Jun 2013
    heart book
  • I love you. I adore you. I admire you.
    A selfish love,
    if that.
    Greedy,
    for me your precious spark.
    Would do things for it
    without waiting to know whether
    it’s suitable,
    it’s tailored to your heart.
    I dare not ask the measurements.
    I imagine it boundless,
    boundless enough to embrace this fondness.
    Please.

    Too much to ask

    –––––––

    20 Jun 2013
    heart book
  • I have not found peace,
     but I have glimpsed it
    in the happy eye of a dog
     on a walk,
     trotting,
     panting in step with step
     after a mad scramble
     after a fleeting rabbit
          or chasing
           a squirrel up a tree
    and at home darting beneath
     slumbering lids,
     chasing dreams.

    Happy Hunting Grounds

    –––––––

    22 May 2013
    dragonfly book
  • It is cruel and embarrassing
     to have an asteroid strike my beauty;
    my ecosystems are invaded and disrupted
     with the havoc and the gash.
    When my volcanoes erupt,
     my people chastise my
      self-inflicted violence.
    They narrow their eyes at my fickle nature;
     they question my bountifulness.
    In fear, some look to the moon
     and the craters and despair,
      but I am earth;
       I am shrouded in miracle:
        patient, folding old skin within
         to be rekindled into new,
     canvasing barren landscapes with
      humble grass, and flowers, soon.

    Howl

    –––––––

    10 May 2013
    dragonfly book
  • Beat;
    beat.
    The waves curl and break within my body,
     up my torso, up my shoulders, and
      burst into my throat,
    incessant, insistent,
    so constantly ardent.
    Where to? Where to?
    Where are you going?
    Oh, where are you going?

    Tidal

    –––––––

    6 May 2013
    heart book
  • I fancy myself a fine craftsman
     with fortitude enough for a mansion,
    someone who adorns, with gold filigree,
     the polished, stained pine
     and keeps each room
      appointed, waiting
      for the assessor’s gaze.
    Had I known it was my home I was crafting,
     I would have squatted upon a pond and been
    someone who has enough fire
     and just enough wood
      to live.

    Real Estate

    –––––––

    11 Apr 2013
    dragonfly book
  • Little boy,
    you just have a patch
     to hide your nakedness.
    
    Patch after patch
     — too much needlework —
     until you are emperor.
    
    All patched up, no place to go.

    Patchwork Pants

    –––––––

    6 Apr 2013
    dragonfly book
  • Failed essays,
     each belying
     my immaturity…
    
    What am I saying?
    This is my life I lament:
     real life… lives.
    
    Their blood stains my hands.
    Why did I try to write
     with them.
    
    I lament spilling ink,
     but the sin is simpler:
      taking people’s lids off,
      handling their bottles.

    Crime & Punishment

    –––––––

    7 Mar 2013
    dragonfly book
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