anew

i have met so many wonderful people, lately, my quiet coffee shop folk. i made three new friends this week, one today. closer to old ones. closer to new ones. everything is new. i feel so different.

dear neighbourhood, foggy today, you’ve swept me up
into the dregs of porcelain coffee cups, i am ground
i’ve met boys with hair so long some swear we’ve met gautama
one, two, one, three, oh holy river flushing me plain
gentle laughter, pale eyes, look how they close the covers
my name, anew, on new tongues

 

 

 

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grace

the ocean’s waves were at my shores. to have sat all night in wait for stillness – overeager, overwhelmed, wailing child in the brine

perhaps i should have built a hut. to have dreamt all night and carved out silence – sleeping bodhi, sleepless darling, tired woman you crave divine

a gull cries softly to a clouded moon
and a small crab, it swishes through the sands
and you, your legs, most graceful in dark waters

once more

(some days everything is fine as we work for it to be, but on some days i am simply afraid. on these days, lately, i write little poems to ease my heart or to express my fears. i wrote this listening to a song on repeat which undoubtedly influenced what i wrote, so i’ll include it at the end)

 

one less heart
here with it in my hands,
a gift for those who pass on by

once more whole
i fumbled with the pieces,
but if life has taught me anything,
it is to never give away what isn’t wanted

your blank face
like leaves in a basket,
you can’t quite contain and the wind inevitably has its way
you miss me and god, i miss you

i shall never turn my back the same

once more home
i stumble with my wishes,
but if you are as restless as always,
it is not in me to plead a soul to stillness

two sore hearts
now a stranger in my eyes,
i can’t quite remain and time inevitably has its way

we both look back and god, you miss me

but i would do it all again, you know

 

 

i felt it

i felt the night sky
i felt it
drift over me, cool breath
finding my face, my flesh
bruising, flushing, knitting
our words are a spattering of sparks
against black satin
i can hear the crackle

i dreamt of dawn’s eye
it saw me
arching its back, golden weaver
each day i have slept in the cradle
of memory, the palms of darkness
as much a home as any
our words, a scattering of stars
against deep waters
i have been a stranger to my waking days
soft,
but strong
soft, but strong

 

no, fear

no. fear. the words hang off of lips, gaudy decorations, swaying from side to side. have no fear. as if you are not an animal, as if the contours of desire have always been congruent within the empty chambers of the so called higher.

it as if you have dug your hands into your conscious soul and when nothing but the void rang out you flinched, stiffly, swallowing, battling once soft lungs and curving spines with an offhand dismissal: this is fine.

but there is a darkness within my heart again, there is a darkness within the walls again; i have curled up naked on the path again, and when i raise my eyes to the sun again, i hear it: be fearless.

seven a.m. one pair of porcelain legs amongst sleep warmed sheets, an open window, the songs of birds rejoicing in golden light. i don’t want to be alone.

nine a.m. blueberries and cream, tea leaves, a good book. when the hand on my watch shudders it takes my heart with it. the day is passing. breathe in, breathe out. you can’t lose what you don’t have.

one p.m. i have coiled myself around my heart, but with every passing stranger it slips past me. when i ask for anyone’s afternoon the words pile in my throat, messy syllables and shy eyes. they say yes, life flows, and i apologize later. one day i will build my home.

five p.m. a restaurant i don’t know in a neighbourhood i have never heard of, my phone is dying and i’m not sure what bus to take. a ten dollar bill, a quick smile, and the setting sun. the bus driver answers my questions and i relax. i start to wonder if i’ve always known what roads can bring me back.

ten p.m. one hand against tear stained eyes, a blank sheet of paper, an open window, the rush of cars through a star kissed night. i am reduced to nothing in the face of passion. i am reduced to nothing but dreams of action. i slip between my covers. i don’t want to be alone.

seven a. m. be fearless?

i laugh, get up anyway

evening

the river runs cold in the morning.
my blood, warm in the evening.
i do not know
the music you play
the songs you sing

but i heard you

the forest drops its pine cones to the ground
i can hear them falling,
promised breaths of quiet life
in the dirt, they find new homes

i drop to my knees and loathe the sound
we clutch our pillows,
tenderness, strife
upon the floor, old homes

the river runs gold with the dawn.
my thoughts, haze upon the dusk.
i do not know
the songs we play
the words we sing

why can’t i hear you?

the river runs