andalusian dancing

Inside a Monday night cantina on
the east side of Austin. the
cracked concrete floors. were
stained with mops to look
like cobblestone. black plastic
grapes, a snow of dust on their
leaves, woven overhead
through a lattice too thin to hold
their weight. two flamenco
roses; our teeth marks gnawed
into the stems. the taste
is the smell of grass; our faces
close enough to all but sample
the bite: gentle, deliberate
and intense. we dance. a trail
of colors bouncing wall to
wall like neon tetras in a tank,
we ricochet cannons of light.
scattering, shimmering,
pulsing through what was
until this dance. another cloud
of dreams descending on the
half-closed eyes of night.

12 nov 01
blndrdec01

mixed-media

Chapstick knocking in the
dryer it was yours tracing
my lips in a frame of
crayon petite nude naturels
my dark beach boy man
coconut sunscreen and sand.
Cinnamon d’amour pours
down a bathroom drain
organically pure I’m a
squeeze tube of acrylic maroon
the color of
love is for morons
Indian Red you would say
every pore well informed
I’m more off than on without
you I’m crushed in the middle
and left out to dry and I
think it’s time again
to change from silver to gold
my neck my ears the fingertips
of my toes are soaked in
enough of your sweet allure
without second thoughts
of these Mexican silver moons
and stars and pieces of
you that I wear.

The towel hangs
three days from the hook

absorbed as I am in
another the one that wasn’t
still we held on tight didn't we
to every half-light filtering
through the glaze and
in-between the cracks
until our next god died.

06 nov 01
blndrdec02

replenish

inner teardrops
gather
to water
the orchid
of the naked soul.

on waking

overhead, the heater fan
drones through an open vent
it hums
like a water shell

daybreak swimming through my
window-glass, its colors stained
with mist and clustered ashy moss

another distraction
another clasp in the the metal chain
that brings me back
to you, to a wave of dreams

the rhythm of your touch sedates

it strums my spine, played back
in silence, shuddering
against the slender willow of my soul

far from the ocean now
I think of you, your whisper
like a water-shell pressed into
my palm. it bends, it billows
in my surge of dreams.

10 feb 01

eden sleeping

I would wake to watch your
Eden sleeping in my dreams.

Your hand would be warm
and your kiss would be mine.

But I couldn't bear the pain, now
that I know the length of Autumn.

30 may 01
blndrjun01

beating to windward

outside the bungalow,
evening sand chills beneath
an awning of sky in berlin blue.
there is something sacred
of fire on a beach that
draws you close like a
newborn to its mother's breast.
when we touch again
I will remember this.
but for now, indefinite
circles of seconds
clocking voices on a line
in this downtime of the heart.
settled in the cool of night
the flames persist,
beating to windward.

16 mar 01

lovers and other mirages

in the eye of
dark morning,
in a pastel shade
of black,
one arm one leg
and torso
rolled back into you.
as inborn
as an empty boat.
gliding to the
water's edge.

08 july 01

FTD

It bloomed today without you.
against a sterile dead wood sky.
white wild blooms delivered
from its ovaries bursting
blossoms gummy
pink enough to pop a
bubble on your face.
scattered screaming
streaming sweetheart
salutations
no one heard.
late this afternoon.
in the field behind the
kitchen window. all
roots and sap and veins
and mardi gras buds
of bobble fuz
springing from a rearview
mirror bloomed today
quite zealously without you.

14 feb 01

downstairs porch

even the shallow arm of sea
is nearer now than you.

it fades.
like ink in water.

too easily you come to me
in dream, night and day.

cloudy liquid mornings.
another dog across the lowland
barks in fours.

07 feb 01

he said he loves

the way my eyes
peek out behind a
strand of hair
when my head is
down and I look

up, to scatter
moonlight words of
daydreams, sunbeams
of night dreams,
and smile instead.

tortoiseshell

Given a comb of
tortoiseshell, I would
cross your hair of
nightwater. I would watch
your face fall wide and tame
beneath dark eyes. Given a
map, all crackling paper folds,
I would leave it
on the hutch, with every
careless intention. I would
guide you
to guide me
to the places where all borders
disappear. I would cast my reel
into the midnight lake.
I would sing to
you in every key.
I would ask your ghosts
to lift their feet
and sweep beneath their seats.
I would watch your face
fall wide and tame beneath
dark eyes, given you.

10 may 01

a truce

fingertips dancing
like optic lights
Brazilian sambas untamed
on my skin, damp
intoxicating titillations
coaxing my spine
hands warm
perfectly strong
pressing hard
unhorsed by his touch
I lay down my arms.

30 jul 01

two syllables

Standing is too abrupt, too
rushed, to say goodbye.
Hurried words
escape like satchels from
the luggage claims. Frozen
words hover over parting gates
and lettered halls that smell
of seasoned fries and
sauerkraut. Sitting: too sedate,
ponderous as a houseboat. We are
not a metal lamp, turned from
incandescent hot to cool with
a tap. We are not a
book slapped shut. Prone.
Prone will say goodbye.
Prone as a floating leaf, marooned:
resting on a cypress root, set
to make its move.
Prone as a cat
stretched belly down on a
smooth brick floor, shaded
with rafters painted the color
of sky. Eyes closed and tail
brushing the air: humming-
birds zip in and out through
banister rails like days.
My lips: silenced. Words
wait like Guatemalan jewelry in
a drawer. Words (I try to say
goodbye) that cannot reach
my mouth, fall wet with drops
of lilac jade and silver-plated
beads along my face, spilling
from a broken thread of wire.

19 jul 01

shikoku

The shred of regret is a
gold crane; is washi paper.
Folded and
tucked like tendrils
behind an ear.

Surging waves of blood
through veins. Breath
captured by vapored breath.

Fly to Shikoku, tongueless regret.
I listen for
its name, ripplings. Harvest of
snow banks. Its face,
pressed into a wing.

02 apr 01

as we do

it has only been a season.
a small leaf falls to the pond
believing he is still a tree.
my wooden chimes hide the quiet.

02 oct 01

echo in the atrium

Air, waiting
to breathe in again.
Quiet strums of touch
my skin remembers, almost
stretches to the space his
stars collapsed. The hall,
last morning light
filtering to lips.
The armless couch - his
hair, stone black onyx
against its pillows white.
Bathwater in the dark.
Endorphin bags of
aphrodisia dripping, dripping.
Villagers of the night
tossing, turning insomniacs
of bone-idle air. It nods
like floating leaves.

01 apr 01

one, one thousand, two

I like to count the seconds between the lightning
and the thunder to see how close it is, just
like I count the time between our kisses.
To measure the distance.

24 oct 01
novblndr01

before & after goodbye

Tonight the sky will be moonless
and it is just as well. Tonight
the August winds will find us half
an earth apart, as broken as
mosaic skies and just as flat,
its small pieces of glass and stone
glued to the wall. I lie quiet; your
kiss gradually dying from my lips.
My summer sheets are charged with the
verve of you, they sink into the spaces
where we clung like dragonflies.
White summer sheets settle around
my skin like a white
warm bath of milk. They fall soft
to the spaces where your body
was a tangent to
my curvature, the s-curve
eradicated; the contrast, paled.
My face rests on its side, deep
in the scent of your pillow.

19 aug 01

``gravitation cannot be held responsible for people falling in love'' --Albert Einstein

watered-silk

the wax light burns
of apricot and subtle musk.
he lies tonight.
the air is warm for winter.
like pages soaked
of rain, our skin
melded back to face.
I trace his smile.
as he pretends to sleep.

02 feb 01

flight options

I should go to him
right now
wrong now
it doesn't matter.
Book a flight with
eyes closed.
Everything says yes.
The windshield wipers
squeaking yes against the glass.
The Siamese cat in the window.
Everything says yes.
The miles are nothing.
The time, nothing.
He is everything yes.

01 apr 01

sofa

I've been brooding.
Somber as a silent bird.
Nested deep in a
chino cushion, red walls
surround me like a womb.
Sun-speckled arms of
mountain laurel fidget
impatiently
outside the window.

I've been brooding.
Stewing in the pointless
words we bleated ear to ear
across the wireless waves.
Promises surfacing
and resurfacing
like corpus delicti from the
bottom of Crescent Bay.

A soft hiss of silence through
the plastic earpiece in our
hands. Make it or break it
pivotal tones. A hush,
when what we needed was
an orchestra. You have one minute
remaining. Rambling, ambling,
and yes we digress. Picking at
our string of words like beaks
in feathers. My jaw catches.
My mouth, cracking dry as
splinter-boards on its plume.
Why couldn't I just say it.

01 may 01

the wait

Insensitive earth!
You measure days
like a slow turret clock.
The numberless waves
returning from their battlefields;
rumbling, into the black
of jettied shore.

03 mar 01

sand crossings

in the late-night hours, I sit
in my green hammock
made of rope.
becoming young
as I grow old.
I push my toes into the
sand and sway, cradled between the
tamarind and weathered corner post.
I decide I am the tree and
not the post.
I hear that it is cold where you are.
above my tangled sack, the moon pulls.
the stars dance like midwives of the sky
in ritualistic flames.
crashing booms of waves kiss
the shore, open-mouthed.
sands of nearly oyster white
hold a bookmark at the crossing
where we stood, wrapped
against the ocean's gust,
wrapped in time polarized
by time. it marks the
crossing of two, and holds a place
for your return, for the soft voice
of ocean. for the whisper of
your watercolor eyes.

03 mar 01

the wind whispers and the moon listens

Your touch is with me still, as
evening sky hangs thick on every
cricket's song. Worlds of promises
fall like whispers spinning,
twirling through the wind, kissing
at my neck, teasing at my frame of mind.
Quiet is the soul of a moon that always
listens. Quiet is the heart. Holding
onto promises that slip like silver water,
dropping like daysky into night.

18 may 01

piñata sky

Across the duck-pond bench we
lie, still as garden sculpture,
but for this kiss.
Every color, numb
to the sounds around us.
Migrant mutts and frisbee dogs,
toddler arms pinched
in water wings, birds of passage
doing battle for a sidewalk
cracker crumb. Polo,
Marco Polo. Every sound
is locked away, silenced
by the rhythm of your kiss,
finding mine, gently letting go,
fiercely finding every fold of
lip again, teeth, tongue.
Colors of, oceans of, touches of
kisses, nibbling through a
bright piñata sky.

28 may 01

first rain

Looking through eyes
drugged with wonder, like a
child, like a newborn fawn peeking
up from the dusted underbrush.
Looking through eyes at a
summer-dry world in spring.
Destiny comes spilling
down, soft showerheads of mist.
The smell of grass, clean and cut
and framed in unpaved rural roads.
Showerheads of mist rinsing skin
with eye sky-kisses, warm pulses
dripping through the air, suddenly
new. Everything unexampled,
unexplored. Everything
fresh-washed by rain. A first rain.
This is how I feel about you.

22 june 01
julblndr01

gardenias

it doesn't take another
streak of chartreuse in your
hair to find soul.

it doesn't take another
tattoo burning on your thinnest skin
or nine more piercings to let
the soul seep in.

even the hand-sewn
sequins covering miss usa
hide some pretty (no
pun) soulful scars.
yeah, that's me hiding
behind another metaphor.

we've all seen some ugly
ashes we bought as
flowers in the produce aisle.
we lost days, years
we lost loves.
in a literal sense.

or died ourselves.
and by some prayer
someone made us breathe again.

we have and
we haven't
visited graveyards.

we have
betrayed ourselves
and come to find
a simple grace again.

we learn to forget
how to dwell.
we pour water in a vase.

21 feb 01
blndrmar01

around his neck

Caught in a sweep net
by night,
fragile bird -
my wings were never moonish.
I was the small figure
engraved on a jewel.
She was the Earth.
His sapphire oxygen
fed through a long
hollow tube. His ruby fire:
wine-colored sails of air
supping at his soul.

25 jul 01

escape into you

At the end of afternoon, draped
in nightbird song,
when the last column
of sun, square as a plank, pours
gold through tall crepe myrtle
trees, their petals cool in a
flat shade of green.

When the sails are put away
when the waters sleep
we kiss; and I fall into
your arms.

When the waters sleep
we kiss
and I tumble
to an endless seascape
of your ocean eyes.

26 jul 01

aging in nantucket

There are things she
can't remember:
the bills, the demitasse of
strong black coffee growing
cold on a carved drop leaf stand.
But in early mornings
late in another summer,
she remembers his
face like a fine portrait,
she remembers his love.
She lets it in like daylight
through a
vertical blind.
Winters and summers
and winters again have
poured into her room, linear
blocks of light.
Winters and summers and
winters again have died.
She can feel him still, the
cup of his hands on her skin.
His arms around her, homed
to her waist, a perch in waiting.
She can hear the sounds of summer
collapsed into the sea beneath
the beauty of the sun.
Her smile, he knew.
And it returns like none before
or after. It catches, as quick
as a breath, alive as a hummingbird
against a windowglass.
Through the wooden blinds
a film of air,
translucent as it is, throws
light against a thousand tiny drops
of dust, floating in the sitting room.
She reaches
to the thin louver dowel to
turn the slats, and it is gone.
Winters and summers and winters
again, have died.
Winters and summers
and winters again are born.

20 aug 01

close your eyes

An infant sighs against
a mother's breast, as soft
as evening
falls against a sky,
gentle, as your touch
on nights like this;
our bodies fit, our minds
connect, our souls belong.
How do I explain the things
I see in you, the warm
strong rhythm in the
language of your eyes?
How do I describe
the passion of these words
unsaid, held and given
in a breath against my
skin? They transcend
the spoken voice and I
would listen to this moment
in a room of white and
endless time in its simplicity.
Close your eyes
and lay with me, and I will
dream with you. The petals
close, the petals open
to a world inside a world,
to the dream within a dream
until the morning light,
our souls belong.

22 aug 01

fervour

Our flame, sweet arson, burns in ocean air.
His secret words unclothed from eyes the
deepest hue of hunger; spilling in,
becoming lost in my heart.
Sacred moonlight; sacred stillness; sacred embrace.
Powdered ashes stir, settled in the cool of night.

21 nov 01

intermezzo

In your arms
sound and silence
liquefy to one.
A single strand of time
made real by its
surrounding interlude of
life within a life we cannot hear.

We fly across the undertides
of passion-scented cries,
tendersweet, across the
sails of silence
created by the sounds of love
we make below.

25 nov 01

further trom the edge

this morning in the
pantry our hearts were
bread stale
and our eyes
were not wide opened
as they used to be
facing the sunrise window
moon wheels revolve on your
street market clock
no longer counting red
tides or blue
when you'd slam the
door a second time
slam to be heard
and walk into a cloud
of fire just to punt and
stir the flame
you understand
in a language built of
deadened monosyllables
gracelessly
swallowed down
with analgesics that our
eyes are not wide
opened as they used to be.

05 sep 01

mid-winter

Watercolor blue bleeds
through a wet paper sky.
Ruptured vessels of
cold air swabbed
with frostbitten cloud,
the deep stained colors
hemorrhaging
in their own intensity. I wake
over and over to the
vapor of my own regret
and still I see you in dream.
Blue within phalo blue.

06 dec 01