breastplate, backplate, sword and shield (1st revision)

we chink with sorry steps, start disassembly
remove gauntlets and sabatons and
slowly our limbs take shape as we uncover inward,
toward our quivering centers.
wrists, elbows, knees,
there are our thighs
and there, our shoulders.
soon and sooner, we are bare, stripped.
the ground, a terrific battlefield, punishes us gently
as we navigate on careful tips of toes.
our walls, unbreached, hold us closely
and even closer still.
our cannons remain unfired.  our heaviest artillery
sleeps far below us in slumped piles.
we mirror and mimic and then, slowly soften,
fold ourselves one into the other,
amidst candles and light, stone and moss,
battles and wars, victories and defeats.


*please please give me any/all feedback!  let me know what works, what doesn't, etc and etc.  this is very new (read: unpolished...no armor pun intended).  xo

i dance and

you curl to me in sleep
and i to you
a definition of sweetness
it may be that there is a breeze
out of our window
or a violent storm or calm

in dreams we sail
rocking with the waves
our feet are tanned
speckled with water
it may be there are birds
it may be that we are alone
together

our lives are ordinary of course
we work across cities kiss good-bye
kiss hello and again
i daydream about what comes next
the night's dinner or painting a bathroom
building a family
with bricks and mortar and devotion
our love stands aside unwavering
in dreams and in living and ever after

in the language of falling, flying

the way autumn speaks in leaves
all crackles and whispers
hushed and raging
it pulls us from sleep, begs us to dance.

we have flown through this season before
undaunted and adventurous.
we know about smiles and gray skies,
storm fronts,

birds over rooftops,
fleeing trees that toss and tumble yet are always righted,
their wings, the birds' wings, tip, tip, glide, turn.
everything is moving.  right now.
everything is a motion to which we adapt,
take on,
take off.

june is slipping away v.2

**this original post was written last night at 11:59pm...but it recorded it as being written friday at 9 something...so i thought it very confusing. apparently when you edit a post (ie delete the words and retype) it keeps the time/date stamp. ah, always learning...**

in one minute ,sunday, and this weekend as we know it, will be over.

how?!

oh weekend, you were so kind to us. so unassuming. so gentle and serene.

oh home, how you sheltered us from haze and heat. how you loved us in your all encompassing way.

oh heart, could you ever have imagined such effortless joy? such seamless beauty?

oh life, as always, when my arms threaten to throw themselves up in exasperation, you are calming me. providing me with moments that fill me with such happiness.

the ever balance. the give and the take.

the juxtaposition and the constant education of what it means to be. and how that being is everything.

*when there is all ocean and no shore*

if i saw you
if i saw you in sleep
if i saw you in sleep and wept it is only because my words had run out long ago

in the language of saline i want to tell you specifics
the whens and wheres
the whys
i open my mouth, my lips form the sounds but they are all silent

if i dreamt you
if i dreamt you upon waking
if i dreamt you upon waking and never found you again of what use would any of this be

in the enveloping darkness, in specks of light i find i can't help but dance and spin as if what pulls me and pushes me is slowly coming to the surface
as if it is my tides that have changed, are changing, will change

a work in progress

what i was hoping for today was to copy and paste.
in my last semester as a grad student i wrote prose poems.
short. short. prose poems.
they were my attempt at imitating gary young.
who(m?) i greatly admire.
(read: find his book somewhere, anywhere! and read it a few times over.)
alas,
i can't find the poems anywhere.
so i am forgoing my usual panicky routine
and will sort through my big ol' box of writings
and will hopefully post something poetic later this evening.
hopefully.
(read: if i don't find those poems in said box, said panicky routine will ensue.)