After making love –
I lay my head upon your chest
To hear your heartbeat;
You are delicately built
But wonderfully alive.
Your skin is like satin
Draping across my fingers
As a blanket would but better;
Let me lay in your warmth
'Til the evening's end.
Jesus stole him from me;
A cleft of my heart went
With my beloved to grand company.
Shock distracted the void –
Grief befriended melancholy
And I tagged along, I admit.
Anger pulled – whispered of mortality –
I regroup my senses
But still, it finds me.
Thank God, forgiveness was created
For also this exigency.
Weeds as tall as children
Partially hide the dusty windows.
A long silence hangs
Where once promise echoed.
Broken glass fills the street –
Glittering like emeralds
To some – to a majority –
Proving their travails.
How capricious it is
To follow the tail of a comet
And skip across Saturn's rings -
To wade in endless streams -
Cloaked in ether's blanket
Of midnight fantasies -
Where I've other lives -
I'll never completely tell of them
But to the Pleiades.
The Sahara is another vast sea
Of zero-edge horizons
And remote hours of austerity
For "sailors" upon caravans
And the Sun beams mercilessly
And seems cruel to patrons
Until the Wind scoffs haggardly
And reshapes its art of dunes.
Ample is the rising sun
That alights the furthest mountain –
A carmine drape upon every hill –
Exciting the birds to warble.
Ample, too, is the evening sun
That paints a nebulous curtain –
Quickly changing the palette until
Bringing the good day to shutter.
What a brutal sun that assaults the cliffs
Where cacti and mescals dare to abide!
Here and there, dozens of petroglyphs
Decorating the canyon may be espied.
In large nesting circles neatly drawn
In evaporating wisps and bold squares
In a sun to give thanks for every dawn
In little starbursts and stick figures
In a deer, in an eagle looking strong
In a war scene kept by the ancients –
It remains unsaid – time is not long
But to a murky end, everything drifts.
Thy being's grace
Is pleasant to behold -
As beautiful as
The jacaranda
When its blooms
On some April day unfold.
Blessed be the one
Who keeps thy aura.
All of a sudden, it’s mid of July,
The ceiling fan spins, the days drift by.
Once I woke to purpose, dreams held wide
Now I wake to silence I cannot hide.
Silver rays refracted,
they bent in benign,
shapes and shards,
bright moon casts
stylish beauty yet,
never flags each night,
glide to wistful glide,
a blissful eye treat,
stunned yet aroused,
theatrical tapestry,
engulfs midnight
to polychrome swathe,
engaging the wanderer
whilst they emit sighs,
that spread an arch,
heard by phantom,
fellow journey plodder,
crying heart floods,
of elated elixir elf,
metaphor for cheer,
either day or night,
the astute eye always
discovers eclectic
sound and vista