Three Streams

Longing

I smell your voice
in the warm summer night
the thick smoke hewn weight of it
laughing through the air
a brother to the darkness
is this place of dreams
this time of all times
and none

Youth’s Last Night

the forfeits
fought and died for
dead soldiers line the walk,
wasn’t that a party
that time that time forgot
and so have I
only the chill of the hour
seeping up my legs
my hems wet with
dawn’s dews


Matter Horn

shattered and shorn,
sleep tattered torn,
worn with spatters of bloody dreams
revealing futures fled
and pasts unseen
like the dimlit path that guides me
onward asleep to you
oh hold me love
and let the dark be our all
it is all I have left
a prayer, a spell
unchanted

Another Late Night

...and no sign of the end of the road, the narrowing tunnel, the broadening expanse of the dreamlands call. You are so wrapped up in the cocoon of your own changes that you can't see out, stretch out to share an arm and shoulder to cry (havoc) upon.

I cannot need you so much, who have so little to offer in trade.

Trapped in the patterns, in the road travelled too well, and the ruts too deep to lift a crippled foot free.

I saw an old horse yesterday, heavy and lethargic and hurting. His knee looked like mine, his leg misshapen by pain and lack of use. If I was a horse, I'd have had me put down ages ago. What hope of a life without movement, freedom?

Rich Words

When Dreaming

The snow can fall in drifts that become
the pink cherry's petals
the sky can slide
between azure and indigo
or even echo the shouting yellow
gold of the sun in the glint of the rings
we gave each other
the single twist of warm metal
against the bronze and cream of our skin
the clasp of our hands a Moebius strip
unending, ever changing the day

when you look into my eyes
and see all the green of the sea
the fathomless truth
and I see in yours the reflection
of my own hopes, this long sojourn ending
in the touch that begins the next

your shoulders are broad
your skin warm and honey-soft
your hands possessive and gentle
taming a fearful heart with a stroke
down my mane, the river of hair you so love
to smell, to bury your fingers in
and breathe poems into

the neverness of the dream protects us
holds us true to our course
the wind blows as it may
but we are guided by Polaris
and the music of the spheres
wave-rocked on a keel wrought of the few breaths shared
the sighs of such lovers lost in time
and knowing only that when all is right
soon will come
and we will have our time

Ache

No words can capture Spring, or sadness.

My heart is aching as I consider a lifetime of lies, and learn to be true. I would live verily, and soothly. I would let go the sins of my past and find absolution in doing better this time around. I don't know if it's possible to be absolved of damaging others, or if the pain I live with is the karmic price of those crimes. My heart aches with how happy love makes me, but my dreams are jagged and sharp, as though my sins, acid etched on the surface, have allowed the under layers to erode.

Is it only justice, and am I able to fight free? Will I only deserve joy, contentment, fulfillment, when I have atoned?

Or do I earn absolution by struggling to live as beautifully as I can, to never do again as I have done?

As with everything else, I can only look to the mirror within for any answer.