Sunday, September 28, 2014

In the Real Garden

Art by Christian Schloe

To the near-empty sound of the young morning,
Dyed only with the sensuous sway of
Two trees that dance together
Though separately,

Rinsing their leaves in
The blushing haze of the ever
Unfathomable new day’s emergence
From the embers of yesterday’s vastness,

To this,
To it,

To you,
Near-empty sound:

hold steady.
i feel you.

within your timid thrum i enter,
sensing everything.

and you.

and your growth as the dew dallies.

and me.

and my body laid down beside yours.

and us.

and the roaring din
of our sternums as we breathe.

Monday, September 1, 2014


Unknown photographer

Remember when I asked you to keep vigil?

Oh, the promises you made!
And oh, how you slept!

And… Oh, how you brought me
offerings in your quest for redemption!

But I have limned myself with
the thinness of every moment—
this one, and the next.

And I have stolen away into a mythology
that only I can understand.

Thoughts. Legends. Fantasies.
They endure.
As do the sepulchers of the dead.

Late at night, stillness coils through
my flesh, rousing every angle
of my being into attention.

Words are no longer necessary.
My mouth is round with vision.

The strawberries ripen
in the stirring of the wind.

I walk slowly.