rainy day

Water only sits in the white chairs
on the back porch
because the clouds kiss the armrests
with their wispy bodies all caked together
instead of a summer sunbeam
or a singular butterfly,
I wonder what it must have been like
to travel in giant flocks,
all those monarchs following magnetic pull
or some navigation
so few of us want anymore.

but in it, never lost

There is nothing wrong, nothing missing
because we have everything we need:
we need nothing, really
only the promise of existence
supports our fledgling souls.

We do not need the wind
to flaunt its sweet whispers
or the sun-sent flowers
to kiss our warming cheeks,
we do not need the soil
to nourish who we are.

We are without violence
we do not strive for peace
no, we go beyond that:
we are an existence,
a part of the structure:

this connection of webs
spider legs and branches
between blossoming life
and this green place we know
The place that we are now
it is not absolute.

But our hearts are mirrors
we are the capillaries in leaves
we are cells eating raw leftovers
we are infinite sky
when we are full circle.

As for now, we rely
on the stilts we walk with.
How are we not humbled
by base necessities?

We live by eyes and ears
we hold things just before
it turns to dust and dirt
below our feet again.

With out God and our crowd
we live on leaves and flesh,
we breathe the breath and drink
the blood flowing through here

Alas! We are alive!
be aware, as you may
stumble upon the stones
that do not move away.

Yet all of this aside
there is one thing I know
one thing that matters more:
all that I am is
what I am now

the best moment is this
the one where I wander
clear and open, with love
but in it, never lost

(Adam and Eve)

You, with your chocolate dipped words
so rich and craveable to my mind
last as long as steady night does
hailed by thousands of flying stars
and wandering clouds passing me by
clear view of sky and green canopy
all where my senses are perfect for
misty falling rain, sunrise colors,
powdered butterfly wings, feathers and
free singing birds in trees with fresh fruits,
I know nothing but bare neutral here
in this place held together by vines
twisting up our sides and around us
fingers closed clam shut to the other
where the green mosses and brown ends grow
flowers, shiny leaves, unavoidable thorns
tickling our nerves we pretend not to feel
beneath our natural robes of skin,
that skin which I never thanked you for,
even where you gave me everything
reaching to the sun and to the moon
hiding in the soft earth and clean liquid
as peaceful and clear as perfection;
but I wondered and asked
about the one flaw, that one crack
I had to peek into, I had to
because you never explained a thing
but what you gave me, what I know now
as forbidden peace, happiness, grace
so sweet and loved, what I left behind
and now endure twisted thoughts, mirror mazes
inside my shadowed head, no answers
no marshmallow truth, soft, sweet and light
to lay my head on in this black smog
coating my lungs and blistering mouth
where no songs leave me but confused bits
stumbling through my knotted hair and
I process in small bits and pieces
one grand illusion pieced amidst
oil spills and dry lakes, forests without trees
crackling land and poisonous killing eyes
looking for blood to warm my cold hands
but it is spilled, one puddle in front of me
starting to dry crusty on my feet
where there is nothing else to clean me
there is nothing to hide my broken body
but gray harsh concrete crumbles and dust
ashes smeared on my arms, hands, and face
from when I gave up caring for anything,
when I let everything go because I thought
I could never go back to those perfect lands;
I am stained and punctured, missing part of me:
I am missing your part of me;
that part that is in me somewhere, I know it
precious and small, wound in wire and nails
leftover from bombs and tanks and chains
I know that it is in me, somewhere,
for I have always felt it burning
haven’t I?
you still love me, and I know you do
and you can wash my wounds, you can heal me
so I can clean up the mess I made
there is nothing left to say except
sorry,
but even now, it is beautiful
see what is often forgotten here:
the souls which I drape my arms around
the admired lives which I gave warmth
the perfectly crooked things that grow
the pools of clear waters and green land
the smell of pine needles in the sun
the thunderstorms to rock me to sleep
the hope etched deep into wrinkle lines
what was once perfect was never lost
just forgotten about for knowing
what I thought could be your flaws
thank you

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Night Cover

Along this path I walk alone,

the night takes me in her arms

as colors bleed from the horizon

my sorrows breathe into nothing.

The broken hues of frozen hands

wish to be constant like the sky,

with steady steps each star unwinds

across the stretch within my eye.

I know this calm is made of grace

with reach like low limbs, humble tree

from his hands, his feet, his face

that his body is protecting me

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