he loved her

you could tell
the couple huddled
in the cold
rain
did it rain?
that morning?
the art of wet
glistening
from the glorious space
he created
for her dancers
this place
of movement
ordinary people
moving through the holy
landscape
of love
art
and dancing
on big decks
of possibility
seen through the eyes
of each other
brought alive
in the rhythms
of possibility
she
grand damme
gave her toast
her magnum opus
her tribute
to the man
who was her heart
who carried her soul
out
into the bright wide open
they danced
alive
the lithe bodies
of the beautiful people
assembled
for the viewing pleasure
of the pleasure seekers
stern grove
not such a good name
for something
so free
in that witness
i saw
him loving her
her loving him
their connection
stretched out over centuries
life
unfolding
inside
dreams
of one another
dreaming
each other
into being

erasing

the evidence
has been erased
the e-mail exchanges
the stories
of love
but not
what it
awakened
as possible
in me
just
the remnants
of what is left
as cobweb
and loneliness
i let this
go
wipe it
away
leave it
not
for getting
lost
inside
i let go
of all that
can be let go
and am left
with only
that which
is left
in me
alive
still
it reverberates
as possibility
and fear
gone
are
the remnants
of memory
just
this
love
as
seed
remains

silence

cold
not enough to see the breath
but enough to chill the toes
under slippers
red velvet
with leopard print
on the inside
i think
i am
enough
to live
in the cold
of the out doors
without
the fur
of my past
i think
i can
roam
with brambles
in my hair
find shelter
in the caves
of what was once
a place
of shelter
consider
the cavern
between
generations
of people
who used
to roam
the countryside
with some sense
of belonging to it

i am lost
in this modern
technocasm
of interconnected
loneliness
writing
virtual words
that live
only
on screen
accessible
through
the touch
of keypad

silence

reverberating
in
something
alone
coming
along
in this
cold
dark
night

mourning becomes morning

mourning
becomes
morning
one ray
of felt experience
at a shimmering time
i chi kung it
all my spiky bits
of toothpicks
standing wonky
in the plastic
bag
of me
i shake
i dance
i squirm
it all back
into a clear
pattern
of
at ease

so this
is
a miracle

available
daily

no matter
what
the over
developed
emotional
body
wants to
point out
as reasons
not
to play

i quiet her
finally
put her at
rest
give her
something
else
to do
with her
talent
and time

i give her
dance
shimmering
in the early
morning
of well
rested
sunlight
shining
in

ohhhhhhhhhhhhh

the longboard of now

we sit
in the tired
darkness
ache
toward lying
laying
here
red couch witness
of squeaky hamster wheel
turning
turning
there is something
in the moon of this night
turning
what is dead
over
to seed
what will come
as winter wheat
bread
makes
itself
of course
from that which rises
as grain
in stalks
of promise
in dreams
of what might be
someday
awakened
as life
again

we
find our
way
our
ways
here on the
longboard
of now
pushing past
this song
of songs
singing along
with the wheel
that is always
turning
and turning

especially
when it threatens
to appear
still

early

like an owl
he flies
back
to athena
in greece
on silver
wings
floating
above
all the
chaos
below
that
reverberates
in stillnesses
stilled
for all
of time

telling the truth

no one rang the doorbell
kids were across town
self-mutilation
cutting
from existence
the blog
i let the words go
i return
to something
less
verbal
in an effort
to
stay
alive