SOME NIGHTS, I WHISPER TO THE SKY,
I love you.
Freely, knowing that I may never reach you,
and you may never receive me.
Perhaps it is the only way to love a sky full of stars:
You, so vast in your beauty,
without even knowing it ~
and I, just a small child of the universe
with a love so large that it overflows her heart.
I have figured out by now
I could never outrun or forget you,
even if I were to leave this town
for other ends of the world.
The stars are funny like that;
how they follow you everywhere.
Sometimes they are clouded over
or in different arrangements,
or disappear for seasons;
But, inevitably, they return.
Meeting you, it was like this:
I had been going around life looking at the ground
so as to be sure not to stumble over things,
and then one clumsy day,
I lost my footing and fell.
for the first time, and with great relief,
I saw an infinity of glimmering lights
hanging above my dark well.
They had always been there;
They will always be there.
I know this much.
In this way, nothing lost is ever far.
I have been wandering and growing older
over the weary years,
and I've learned many things.
I know now
I could not hope to untrace
the constellations woven in my soul ~
now that you have shown me,
now that I have seen.
In my darkest hours,
I return to the rolling fields
and dance in the lights you wrapped around my soul.
I gaze upwards
to see you playing in the garden of the moon,
and am reminded of true and beautiful things.
wherever you are, you are home and free.
in the corner of my sky ~
I cry tears of joy.
If you come looking,
you won't find me.
I've lost myself gladly
to the ivy-covered hills,
Where the milkweed dances
and the orchid
a little seedling
for the strawberry moon ~
pull my soul-gaze
into star-crossed fairy tales
And I plant myself beneath them.
If life has taught me anything
It's to believe in
Nothing and Everything
Because whatever happens next
Will certainly be
Unbelievable, and true.
THE MOON IS FALLING
The moon, technically
is falling forever
to the earth;
All the other satellites
were a little too
heavy, or eager. flighty, or aloof.
Or diving in much too head-first.
But the moon travels thoughtfully;
I mean to say
it knows just the right velocity
for its mass
and it skirts around its beloved
shyly, in a sideways motion
so as never to hit her.
will keep falling
for the Earth
Last night I gazed up at the sky
"If I love at just the right
velocity and angle
for the size of my heart
can I too learn to fall for my beloved
without my falling
ever leaving a crater
in his soul?"
SITTING ON A PARK BENCH
I tie my legs
in knots and double knots
around a chimney brick canvas.
Ivy has an enviable courage,
Its fragile reach for the stars
Held by a mortal's touch.
My shy eyes strive for
to the twinkle in your sky
My fingers weave
like freshly baked pretzels
If the big bad wolf
were to blow you down
I would tangle myself
around your fallen pieces
"the grass is covered in stardust."
GETTING OUT OF BED ON A SUNDAY MORNING
Sometimes I try to take so many hundreds of strides.
I climb over theoretical mountains
that I built of the molehill in my slipper.
I dive through make-believe valleys
that I dug out of the ruts in my mattress.
I battle mythological serpents
that I breathed life into through the ghosts in my earlobe
And I dance under imaginary suns
that my dreams painted into my dizzy spell.
And once my fantastical conjuring is complete
I still haven't pulled one limb out from under the comforter.
or had my first sip of morning coffee.
And Mother Nature is standing next to my bed
with her hands on her hips
with that half-amused and half-concerned parental expression,
"But sweetie, remember? you will will only ever take one step at any given moment, forever."
And I breathe one sigh of relief.
and imagine a hundred more.
"...You'll learn. in time. come have some coffee."
and we sit together in silence
as I sketch made-up landscapes
out of the milk swirls in my coffee cup
and conduct a choir of invisible fairies
that I composed of the rooster's call.
LIFE IS A SANDWICH
whenever i feel particularly
chewed and spit out
or eaten up by life
i think of
how liberating it is
that all we can ever do
is our very best
i mean, in that particular moment and circumstance,
that we are perfectly free to do so
even in our imperfectness
even sandwiched between
and mozzarella ghosts,
and bacon aches,
and even with unkind knives and cutting boards
that leave us in bite-size pieces and marinating our scars.
whenever i get particularly ground up,
or am feeling chopped,
i think about that.
i breathe a sigh of relief.
i step back up to the plate.
every year the town's people
gather to witness
the fire dancers
see how they trampoline off earth's surface
sprinkling down again
like burnt confetti
setting aflame horizons
of my mind's eye
as the rattle of a distant battle field
i wander far
from the watchtower's great eye
hand in hand
with my small self
amid fields of reverie
nestled in the grass tufts
where the leaves rustle restfully
and fireflies dance
beneath a sorbet sky
i thank mother earth
in a silent prayer
for this land:
this is the land of the free.
I PICKED A SEASHELL UP OFF THE SHORE
The seashell reminds me
of what I once was.
The ocean reminds me
of what a shell can be filled with
if you listen just right.
I couldn't offer a shoulder
to lean on.
I am, regrettably,
rather miniature for that.
I would have liked to
each and every racing tear
had not they not been
and posing such a danger
of my own drowning.
When I tried
verses of hope
in the pages of his journal
quite by accident
- of course not seeing me there -
he closed the book
and crushed me flat.
So all I really could do was
on an earlobe
"Can't you see, even now,
that everything of this universe
and you, and me,
and even the dark emptiness
between temporal celestial bodies and supernovas
is so miraculous
and as it should be?"
and it wasn't
a sprinkle of fairy dust fiction
feathers of a dreamcatcher
a heavenly throne of condescension;
it was from the simple fact of
a whole life spent knowing
what it is
to feel so small
and effortlessly broken.
I GAVE A BIRD BACK TO THE SKY
Oh fickle bird ~
Flying at the whim of your beating wings
Each day soaring, never knowing when you'll come back home
And so far, so high so as never to skim the ground
Simply assuring you're free and soaring as an untethered runaway kite:
Fly high, fly free, be who you want to be.
But why so afraid of catching the fall?
Papa says "Phoebe's off with Orion again..."
They set loose the dogs,
Sniffin' round the laurel tree.
Beware ye stags, ye leopards, ye lions;
The woodland goddess' bow is slung
And as it was with Actaeon's demise
The lustful hunter
Will end up the hunted one.
It was Artemis
That placed Orion in the stars
When he died at the sting
Of Apollo's scorpion;
No cypress-laden grave would do.
Pity, jealousy has a lethal sting.
A lethal sting.
But beware, Alpheus!
She's ne'er had a lover
Nor man to lead her;
She is no mistress of the seas.
It was Artemis
That stole the winds of Agamemnon's fleet.
She goes about as she pleases
Making waves with Aphrodite.
So beware ye men of the hunt;
The woodland goddess' bow is slung
Guarding the fruits of an amaranth birthright
And it is said
The lustful hunter
Will end up the hunted one.
Lazy summer, hazy summer;
We gazed at the snails
peeking out of their seashell homes.
gave way to autumn;
Cherry leaves gathered round us
as we fell into a cozy slumber.
Autumn slumber heeds to a winter gleam;
and she's a figurine chasing glitter confetti,
spinning to a melody.
But new year jolly
recedes in melancholy,
when the hushed snowfall lulls her to sleep;
She retires without a peep.
Still winter frost will turn to blossoming;
Sprouts and songbirds
will fill the earth, the air;
And come the spring, come the spring...
I know that she'll be back again.
I wonder if the sun rejoices in the emptiness of space
wrapping its broad arms around her
Or if she delights in the planets' dizzy dance,
their perpetual free spin of pirouettes around her.
Surely these things must be something like love.
I lay beneath her umbrella some days
daring her aura to burn through
my layers of complacency.
"Teach me," I whisper shyly
to her rays
as they sprinkle across my skin.
See how she sustains an empire of life
With neither expectation of thanks or thought?
How she passes through each day
so silently, so lightly, so humbly
so as to be barely noticed
and yet leaving in her trail
footprints of warmth and brightness.
I should like to be more like that.
WAITING FOR GODOT
In the end
when we traded stargazing for shorted circuits
and shocks of sobriety for the lovers' drunk,
waiting for us was like waiting for Godot.
But while I was waiting,
I sat under the strawberry moon
and watched her fall for the Earth unrequited,
and came to know unconditional love.
Sitting on a park bench,
I wrapped my arms around myself
like ivy's fearless embrace round a cold hard chimney,
and I came to know true intimacy.
In the garden of the moon,
I watched shooting stars sprinkle like rain across the rolling fields,
as fairy dust tears from a Wishing Star sky,
alighting like constellations in my earthbound bones ~
and I came to know the beauty of darkness.
And when the time came for me to submerge in the flood,
I fashioned fish tails of the fallen leaves of autumn
and let the waves smooth my sea glass edges,
and pirouetted like a confetti mermaid towards an ocean floor kingdom ~
and I came to know the peace of surrender.
And when I sealed my diary's bindings on the chapters of our history,
I left a piece of me woven like oak fibers beneath the fountain of your pen
and a whiff of your breath oxidized around the fraying strings of my guitar ~
and I came to know the bittersweet gift of eternity.
In the beginning - do you remember, darling?
I had said, "Let's be alone, together."
In the end
we were together, but alone.
You, free in flight as the solitary owl,
and I, a lily beneath the weeping willow.
And how can a bird love a flower as much as the wind beneath his wings?
Or a flower dare to be picked from the soil that sustains her?
Forgive me for holding taut your muted strings,
and go, fly free.
For while I was waiting,
I met my reflection in the moonshine, and I asked her to dance ~
and I came to know the company of the universe
within my own soul.
Today I invite you to tea in my head.
I've grown tired of locking my door
and I don't bite, so be my guest.
This morning I scurried to a pen and paper
from my shower in just a towel
to catch this verse as it sprang out of me.
It's not that I haven't known love. I did.
But ghosts only come out at night,
and even then the fire they ignite in your bones is a dream.
Who hasn't chased apparitions through the graveyard,
only to watch outdated wishes
mistake sand for water?
Do you know what my year was like?
Each day I laid a bouquet of flowers beside the memory.
But if deserts and deserted spaces
are breeding grounds for growing pains,
I've birthed a thousand new me's
in the span of one pregnancy.
It's a gift to find yourself at night
under the new moon and the overcast sky,
because you come to know
the constellation of your own soul
that much better.
What I'm saying is,
for awhile my voice was the only voice
in the cavern of Hang Son Doon,
but an echo is a Hail Mary
to the solitude of a heart.
You worry that I'm head over heels
in this nine month affair with loneliness
but whatever it was incubating inside of me is born now
and I don't intend to stay here forever.
No one should.
There is too much to offer.
'Alone' is a gas station where you refuel on the essentials
before you set out on a road trip
to sing love to the world.
The good stuff is out there
The trick is to make peace with your ghosts
and arrive openhearted.
Every year when the milkweed dances,
I am reminded we are all invited to partake.
I guess I mean to say,
lonely follows broken heart but then it passes
it's a simple mathematical pattern
and I'm nearing the sum of my calculation.
If I sing loud enough and clear,
Someone is bound to hear,
And one day the echo to my voice won't be my own.
One day soon I'll take my light
and clothe someone like a holiday tree
and show them a mirror
so they can see all the angels and candy canes
dangling from their branches.
I'll reacquaint with the sound of togetherness,
the way the harmony and dissonances of tears and laughter
can be wrapped in more than one pair arms.
For now I wrap myself within myself
layer upon layer of “I love you”
and “I will never abandon you”;
each piece of my heart smiling back at the other.
But never mind all that.
All I really mean to say is,
I think I could love you.