the one who moves towards me

the one who moves towards me
the rare one
burning with autumn
red and orange
heart aglow with fire
kindled by her longing

will undivided in her
deepest knowing
in the magic wrought by
the overlap of our two faces

where will we meet?
along the ocean shore
near a work of art
in a quiet cemetery
somewhere unexpected but
immediately understood as
transcendentally shared

the life of every lover
ever alive
sharpened to a diamond point
within our breasts
set free within our limbs

"For this you have lived!"
our red lips resurrect you
one last time
before sinking back into
the sea
the canvas
the dark earth
until she moves towards me
in the person of a
different face and
time

it could have been

it could have been
something more
but it disintegrated like
a thousand grains of sand
i cannot stand our
final memory.
what transpired was
a question mark
split by dark madness
with insubstantial explanation
i cannot trust again
cannot confide or
hide within another's grace
but see a mask in
every smiling face
you did this
despite my kindness
or because of it.

you chase me

you chase me
through a ghosted night
why fight the starry hand?
why turn a sleepy eye
from a starry land?
can we hold truth
within ourselves?
can the moment's
secret be unveiled?
we cannot fail
to try
before the sky
rolls back like a scroll,
stars fall down like rain,
night collect its
final toll.

Un rêve

I haven't thought of you
For a long time
But in a dream
You came
Upon a towering green hill
Sunlight in your glistening eye
Dark locks of hair
Alive in cool blue air
There were things to say
And you moved towards me

Tu venais comme le vent par les champs
Puis le silence

lifetimes

i've lived lifetimes
in love and death
farewells, silence

The Call

Filaments

Return

"You reminded me of good things, of late nights and stories, my hand through your cool light hair. Perhaps it was better for that ending upon the stair.. Perhaps, though a natural trajectory was frustrated, a more lasting one was initiated."

Actually

When we say something is impossible, we have given ourselves over to and been taken prisoner by possibility, that is, an assessment of what is possible. But the Actual cares little for our assessments, and our theories or ideas about what's possible are not grounded in the Real, but are abstractions.

It's time to (re) open possibility, to return it to its proper place as the infinitely open field of the Actual.

Motorcycle Diary

Sail Away

Fake

"They're fake," she said.
"Let me see."
And she showed me.

Let You Love Me

Thanks K..

Fragment of a letter

"I've thought for some time about a secret I could tell you, but in the end I feel I don't really have any secrets. What secrets I did have are faded things of yesterday. To be honest I think I've lost hope in having any secrets of my own, and so I live vicariously through yours. Someday, I suspect, that will all change and your secrets will come to light. You'll have to behave yourself then, and perhaps live vicariously through whatever secrets I may have grown into. In the meantime I remain yours, in confidence."

Lilac pool