wilderness

tell me how did you feel

when you come out the wilderness?

but you haven't seen the wilderness

you set it aside

to visit on your vacations

you drive to

in you impenetrable SUVs

you like the idea of being scared

in plush theater seats

an exit sign always lighting the way

I tell you

I'm scared

that you've set this aside

now that I've come to your home

to sit in your parks

I tell you

you don't want the wilderness

we've been fleeing to you

because the wilderness

is too much to care for

too much to bear

home

under the last breath of evening light
I'm finally not alone
watching the leaves move
watching you explore the waterfall

I cannot tell you the name of the tree we sat under
or the exact shade of green
the trees lent to my vision

but the feeling of your hand on my shoulder
the wind lifting my hair
all working as one

I am home

I do not know where any of this begins
or where I end
space between our skin
soil under my feet
and yet

I am home

mail

there's a letter
waiting on my desk
with your name on it

"take me with you!"
i tell it.

mournfully gazing
at the letter
that can't quite
hold everything i'd like to send

i keep a stack of letters
that you wrote my name on
sometimes
i pull them out
just to look at
my name
in your handwriting

just maybe
it'll be enough
to make your heart jump
to see my familiar scrawl

sin

trees
curling, waving
finery on display
while we nonchalantly
drive by
coughing our exhaust
on their extended gifts

After a week of cloudy days

all lifting
our green leafy heads
crooning our love songs
leaves, fingers
animal eyes
stretched
toward the sun God
absolute adoration
for unchallenged light
dependent on
the mysterious untouchable beast in the sky
all the same

red in tooth and claw

red bleeding into the edge of leaves
weight
snapping the stem

the words to speak
the language of the trees
isn't there

is it the abandonment of love
that allows these trees to let go?

never knowing
if what we see as vibrancy
is the pain of thousands of deaths
pieces of the self
falling, decaying
year after year
only to be raked away

talking about the weather

i can see you
standing at the window
veined hand cradling the phone
unsure of what to talk about
except what is familiar
what you can see
the elements of your day
elusive
pill bottles left untouched
bills not paid
slipping out of what you can know
and remember

delighted to hear my voice
you speak of what you know
the corn in the field across the street
the leaves covering your lawn
as they do year after year

the season arriving just on time
reliable
you know
you can always talk about the weather

i am thankful for the world
not for it's beauty
not because it is intrinsically good
or deserves any attention on its own
but because for this one moment
my grandmother
has become alive
and regained control
through the red hues of autumn

Generosity

What is life if not generosity?
With the drink and with doubts,
a whole-hearted abandon to the expanse of sadness
letting go
when all your body wants is a tight, inward frugality.

To cut loose from other's eyes,
knowing that you
and you alone
have spent the greatest, most fluid and alive
time with yourself.

Allowing yourself to make mistakes.

To dump money like the paper and abstraction it is,
and to let its weight spread.

What is life if not generosity?
An excess of vulnerability,
in the dark and cold and uncertain places
where you must be patient
if anyone is ever to find you.

Playing your music too loudly.
Overstaying your welcome.
Holding onto that library book after it is due.

Gifting your being to all things that are bright
and compelling
easy and legs wide
limitless.

Generosity, as becoming.
Not born
fully formed and unwilling
but refolded minute by minute
by the sticky hands
held open by love.

What is life if not generosity?
Overuse of the snooze
and an abundance of space
for dreams to roam.

conversations

deep cramps of stress
inside, outside
neck, intestines
woven through bone

from new people, new rooms
talk talk talk

such careful effort it takes
to thrive in a human ecosystem

but the leaves require no invitation to their celebration

a spider does not require you to say,
"hello, where are you from?"
just lands right in your space
it knows you are from right here
right now
trying to breathe peaceably

the wind does not care if you are on time
unlike tidy human schedules
where tardiness is a demerit
where you cannot gust in and out as you please

I am not required to speak at all
or to adjust myself
but to be present
under a canopy of easy green

prayer

I.
dear jesus
these people are shuffling around
receiving pious marks
i don't know how you put up with church people
God
i don't want any of that
i'm closing my eyes
which appears to be the cool thing to do when you pray
but because i want this to go through
i want heat in my hands
i want to hold the joints
of my new friend
who was so kind
and is sitting next to me now
(it's so nice to have friends)
and why does she have to have chronic pain
i see you in her
you're the fire
God, be the fire

II.
dear jesus
you know how guitar music reminds me of you
and now i want to ask you into my heart again
even though i haven't done that in a while
and i don't think i believe that exactly anymore
it seems a little grotesque
please jesus
open the doors, or the eyes, or something of my heart
just do what you do
to wash away my sins
to wash away my knowledge of nietzsche
to strip away these inherited doubts
please lord jesus
let me close my eyes
and not remember that there's a suffering world
that makes thoughts of you difficult
jesus can we go back to when it was about the music?
this music is so good
it has to come from you
when i hear the beat of the drum
i know it's from you
let that be enough
less words, more music
let that be enough

III.
amen, lord God
fire of my eyes
and it was so

lavish (praise God all ye creatures)

oh, thank God
for the small, sweet crack
of tender salmon
resurrected

for the eyes of exuberance
watching me from across the table

rejoice!
over flames of firelight
(romantics, romancing)

the night marinated in wine
draped in curtains
across alleyways

here (oh here, right now)
let us pour out -- all
from fingertips to lips

dance in delight, dear mouth
the effervescence of flavors
eyes closed
prepared for any prayer
that might be heard

a different kind of lonely

if i hadn't met you
it'd be a different kind of lonely
sitting
with legs dangling
waiting for something i didn't know

that wide open loneliness
where it hurts
reaching out in all directions
fields upon fields

i'm waiting for one thing now

all things bright and beautiful

it is good
to sit silently
with a small, calm purpose

it is early in the morning
but already dinner is simmering
the dishes washed
sunlight reflecting miniature sunrises
off teapots, glasses

the heat of the day has only begun to envelop the house

the day sits
words to be written

for a moment
i am rooted
i have found my place in the world
small
bright
and unassuming

beacons

the moon is burnt
settling low in the sky
among tree shadows

riding along old gravel roads
worn into the earth
the light of fireflies becomes long
dashes of green
trailing along lines of corn
my hand to the car window
tracing my fingers after them

pausing long enough to tumble out of the car
stopping standing still
air shimmering
hands outstretched
through the muggy summer air
fireflies sparking

the sky glitters

all around
campfires blaze and settle
beer passed in a circle
porch lights flicker on and off
calling us home

could you feel the dust of my dreams?

strange to think
that after years
you
were the one
to sleep in my childhood bed
 the weight of my bones
creating
the hollow
 you so easily fell into

heat

it was
the hottest day of the summer
unsurprising
as it was the first day of the summer

watching the arctic animals cowering
tucked in shaded buildings
shedding, sweating
the camels sneering slightly

wandering around
to peer through glass and bars
my hand trapped by yours
held in
by your hand on my back

the heat between us
tangible
touchable
the heat in your eyes
all was golden

hot
and baited

planting

dirt under my fingernails
cut short
and torn

speckled with earth
all up my arm

rows of plants
carefully lined up
clearing other plants
that are carelessly discarded
who chooses?

we are rearranging the ground
under our feet

and the dirt
caked on my body

i am planting myself
to prove
i am just like them

enough

if the only
moment in the day
i could save
were the one
where you could hardly leave
standing in the doorway
for one last goodbye
and then another
another
sunlight in your eyes
it would be enough

I am still here

I haven't written
so my words are achy
and trembling
it's been so long since I've spoken to myself

something warm and kind
is coaxing this out
I can feel the sunlight on my face

days are stretching thin
spider web minutes
brushed away

I have to remind myself,
I am still here

before ashes

my heart is tight

walking through the night shadows
abandoned construction becomes ancient
crouched dinosaurs
waiting

i watch, weary

and i want to tell you
but some things are irretrievable

plastic slats flap
relentlessly against the brick building
i flinch

softer, the trees speak

my heart is tight

the excess of streetlights
could convince you
the world is ablaze

some things are irretrievable
oh God, i've abandoned you

walking steadily
caught up
waiting to walk away into the darkness
to close my eyes and not have to see

lost
into dust

in relation to plants

their curly leaf tips
and glossy skin
the morning ritual
of cleansing dew

how I empathize with you

seasoned

oh, cinnamon skin!
let me taste your pepper,
paprika
bring rosemary along
with her basil eyes.
a will for dill,
oregano has no home
but sugar,
keep speaking your spicy speech

cactus injuries

you were sitting at my desk
as I was trying to reach over you
looking for that gift to wrap
last minute,
like your inscription on the card
like it always seems happens
when we're spending time together
and don't really want to face the world

and of course
(like one of those first coffee dates
when I spilled coffee all down my pants
and nonchalantly cleaned it up
hoping you were still believing I have it all together)
I punched my window cactus
spilling fake desert rocks
and coating my hand, wrist
with cactus spikes

pinching, pricking
I pouted and preened
pulling each little stick out of my skin
turning to you for sympathy
you began one of your explanations
drawn from the categorized rows in your head
this is why it is
the hooks on cactus spikes
something that embeds in your skin
this is why
as I tried to explain to you
that it hurt

and then you saw something
like maybe those times
you look in my eyes
and stop listening to the words I'm saying
and I can't even really mind
but whatever it was
all of your attention was mine

because it's an interesting sensation
when you see that I'm hurt
because the intensity of it scares me
when I see that you would do whatever it took
to stop another cactus
from getting in my clumsy way ever again

you really do mean it
really do you mean it

white ice

tens of thousands of feet above you
looking out on the wing
the whiteness of the clouds
is beyond what I can describe
reflecting into the ice cubes I've left
the bottom of a drained glass
lines of ice
memories of a place I've never been
I can see the polar bear yawn

and then, I'm drawn back to you
wherever you may be
wondering what stories you could tell
about polar bears
and what it means to let go

morality

your body moving against mine
and i'm sweating
you taste me
like lot's wife
i'm turning into salt

trying to accept it

i bought a new pair of pants today
and i couldn't help
but parade past the full length mirror
again, and again
so you see, i'm not really all that humble

or sociable
as i retreated to my room
unable or just unwilling
to hear about anyone else but myself

not to mention
my roots are growing out
and my nails are chipping
who knows when i last exercised

simply stated
i'm far from
perfect

--------

one day, as she was wandering down the path toward home, he appeared, flowers in hand. "for you," he said, but she only shook her head.  the following day, she was walking again and he appeared, chocolates in hand.  "for you," he said, but she only shook her head.  the next day, as she continued along, he appeared again, a book in hand.  "for you," he said, and she smiled, and nodded, and they sat down and read and read and read, and it was beautiful, for it was something they could do together.

--------

alone, imperfect
together, complete