Friday, May 05, 2006


Four A.M., no sleep
Candles die in predawn light
No dreams, daylight soon


Unknown birds call out
Dogwood blooms in violet dawn
Waxing into light


Early summer stroll
Doused in crepe myrtle petals
Snow flurry in June


My life lost its breath
He slipped from me
Even after all those years

The man who showed me
Camelia from azalea
Magenta from cyan

He holds his feet firm
At the base of mountains
With head onward to the blue

Taste of fuschia
And smell of cut grass
Life has its smells
Love has its scents


“gloom,” she said
not gloom as in bloom
nor spacious as in a room

not the space we keep private
not the face we avoid to show

grey and maybe dark
lacking the face of the moon
that is the kind of gloom she meant

i think

but in darkness of such a place
there is no sense in a big room
no buds in haste for spring

“in dark spaces we keep things
close and safe, protected.”
that’s what she said

i’m sure

after Sarah Arvio

Thursday, May 04, 2006

Canyonlands II

A journey to fix us
After the deaths,
The breakdown and alcohol
The suspicion of a fairy tale’s end

In desperation
We became pilgrims
Not knowing emptiness
Has no material destination

In search of feelings misplaced
Hoping to find them intact
In fear of damage and mutilation
White knuckles on emotions
Looking for porcelain hearts,
Shapes that held affection

Among the trails,
Among deep red sandstone canyons
Once reliable organs became strangers
Sky, sand and thousand year old
Chips in ancient stone walls cast more beauty
Than our identities and how we came
To see one another

Love once held still held but hands
Once held each other lost their clasps
As romantic idealists, we held
That no obstacle could divide the bond

I held confusion, I held fear
I held for the last time
Faith that vows were real
And the rings would always
Remain in each other’s company

One person’s understanding
Can’t ever be another’s faith
It is a self reflective possession
Affecting and benefiting the beholder
Its power and paradox,
Non-transferrable even when floating
On an endless ocean of love

Tuesday, May 02, 2006

smiles to make you smile

eric and sara
Originally uploaded by equusignis.
little cousins

energy, boundless, tireless energy...


Because I do not turn

Cold winter day.
Grey skies wishing for desert winds.
These come from the seas, warm,
and arrive on cold shores.

Outside is the
The universe manifesting.
In here are hungry,
Slack shells of souls looking,
wanting, praying for the promises
of a negligent god.

Empty of awareness,
They seek salvation.
Blind to the usefulness
Of empty space, inside,
they carry on in faith.

Like their Maker,
Blind to their own jewel.


Recling Buddha
Gilded in gold, lies watching
Truth immutable


Chao Praya dawn
Your smile effervescent
Lychee on your lips


Sea of coal black heads
My stupa in blond locks here
Far, I will follow

Monday, May 01, 2006


I refuse to be out of faith
I don't care what they old wise men say.
If I were their wives,
I would whip them out of their double skin.

I am a product of something without balance
And so now I am out of balance
But that is all going to change.

I am going to learn the lessons
Passed from the little women
In our history

I'm going lose that shell.
I am going to lose that fragile thick shell.
I am going to lose that manly man stance.
I am going to stand like the way the bamboo would.

I am going to stand the way my mother


The way she stands in a cyclone
And kisses the wind of heaven.


28 October 2001...

Kirala was one of our favorite sushi places
The hostess remembered us even after the long absence
As we ducked into the lobby, out of the chill

On the drive there, I wondered what would make
The evening a nice experience—it was my birthday
It had been the longest span since that

February in New York that we had been apart
You looked wonderfully glowing but hesitant
Like a moth choosing between light and flame

The steaming miso warmed me inside
But we never got past agedashi tofu
In the rhythm of our conversation

The space between our sentences was
As fresh and cold as that night’s otoro;
Precious and tasteful but seeming misplaced

The aesthetic presence of the meal; a metaphor
Four our odd situation but as yet unaware
The attraction and nourishment for heart and soul

Was in the paradox of sushi’s delicate beauty—
The sensual contact on the palate of uncooked, raw fish