the anxiety comes with the love …
the fire … the torment of becoming invisible.
the confusion is the abuse. I had
to make that move. it came to clarity, the response, the sky is right on the
ground … it engulfs all things … how does it separate?
I know you feel average … if just
to witness the self in love, agony, and deaths.
the message is repeated by love,
its apparatus, its courage … the remote fishers!
the tides are low. the tides are
high. it doesn’t matter. you continue to become more of the compassion you
harbor.
it hurt so much it felt good – as
to separate from your feelings, to sacrifice for your soul, running into caves
near lakes.
such a diehard leopard, never
abandoning spots, so in love, so unredeemed, never a forgetful bone.
I speak as if … like I know you …
these are impressions. or sitting close, looking at some behavioral tests,
asking silly, deep questions, taking interest in those lines you’ve typed.
or walking at random, to see the
skies begging, to witness how you ignore the skies – everything but the Love by
the tides.
I imagine nakedness—a giggle or
two, so sacred at a moment, so bashful—like the first time.
it’s amazing how we respond to each
other – we fall forever – due to the corky, rehearsed or unrehearsed responses.
to still locate innocence, so
trained it is, so low—it flows organically. clarinet souls, triumphant cries,
biting or scratching, unrehearsed.
the opalescent sunrise—into bones
and aches and shivers; those chills, those emotions, those terrorizing
feelings.
the iridescent moon calling—to fall
upon your sword, like Saul’s soldier, one last act of devotion.
one last dance. our eyes closing.
the rapture upon our essence. to never again let go, to die without one regret,
to awaken in a stroller, hand to fate.
