Wednesday, December 29, 2010

love worth

I am drawn to the moth
like it is drawn to flame.
And why? 
How will I not be in love
with its love?
It kisses death like a lover.
On its belly with a mouthful of dirt
it dies first as a caterpillar
and after an unimaginable flight
it gives up its breast 
for a single moment
with its beloved...
a moment
that you could measure
in the span of a single heartbeat.


In the predawn, a baby is heard crying.
The soft glow of lamplight complements
the distant white starlight, as secrets
and intimacies are cast out 
into the sky's quiet expanse.
People meet in dark alleyways
bump into each other 
in unexpected corners
coming together slowly
coalescing under candlelight
sometimes appearing a bit strange
a bit, surprised, in each others company.
As the sun warms up the distant 
horizon into a dark gray
they make their way to the docks
walking tall in darkness
huddling under what light there is
hearts quiet in their noise
feet shuffling their way onto boats
boats rocking out into the cradle of the sea.
And all along the shorelines
the yellow glow spreads outward
and the people
they cast out their hearts like bait
on double pronged hooks
waiting for a bite
trolling for a shudder-
a shake of their line
something, anything
to beat the tranquility.
For years, I have enjoyed 
the catches of my heart.
For years, I have tried
little by little
to unfasten this heart 
from these hooks
to little avail.
One day
I will let go of my line
cast myself into the water
and the rust can take the hooks
and my heart can seep into the sea

Monday, December 27, 2010

last night in Mexico

There was the night
clothes strewn by the shoreline
sandals neatly neglected
and the moon
blinding stars
and the stars
kissing the night sky to life.
There was the quiet surrender
of jagged seashells giving in
to the cool sand beneath
and waves
rolling over one another
in their haste for the shore.
There was the balmy breath
of a night breeze
the lull, the clarity of no speech
and the roar of the ocean's soul.
***to be cont'd

Wednesday, December 15, 2010


Let's make a fire and purge our "I"ness;
This is hell.

Let's create a garden and be one;
This is heaven.

Fuck heaven and hell
in the end, there's only oneness.

So come, sit with me now
there is no later
and if tomorrow comes
this moment will have gone.
There will never be a presence
quite like this one
right now.
Take my hand
close your eyes
let your heart bleed into mine
let my breath seep into yours
till we don't know who's breathing
and which heart is beating.

Monday, December 13, 2010


I want to place that holy pedestal,
the seat of the heart
on the highest mountain top,
the most distant star.
These shores, I will race through
like it's a dream,
until I find the most remote
unreachable place,
and there, 
will I bleed my heart dry.
There, on a bed of hidden nights
and secret gazes,
I will lay a spread of sincere tears.
Intimacies and half-loves
I will forsake
as dust kicked up on the road
to that final doorstep.
There, I will wet lip with heartsblood
and speak its innermost secrets.
There, only there,
I will open the floodgates
and cast my heart out to the wind.

confessions p.6

I dictated myself to ignorance,
running madly along the shorelines
of separability.
I gave up the empty potential
of my hands for pebbles, seashells
While the stars bore down
on me, laughing
at my grasping, my excuses.
A rose petal kissed me hollow,
and I burst, like ash,
whirling with wonder.

Friday, December 10, 2010


I've had seven homes in the past five years,
and seven more in the twenty before that.
I've moved halfway across the world,
given up a culture, language, and world,
not once, nor twice, but thrice.
If home really is where the heart is,
then like the scattered pieces of my heart,
one half of me is eastern, the other western.
One half, the lover in my mother,
the other, the fighter in my father.
I fit somewhere in the contrast
between tears and laughter.
How fitting, that every part of me
should be so entangled in dualities.
But what do I know,
I have yet to live half a lifetime,
I have yet, to live, half a moment.
What I do know is that I am
neither this half, nor the other.
I am neither my mother, nor my father.
I am neither eastern, nor western,
neither a label, nor a description.
The whole of me is indiscernible,
but it is something
beyond halves,
beyond words, names,
and the tug and pull of dualities.
I am being taught by contrasting dualities,
by means of opposites
and these wings disguised as halves. *

*Rumi excerpt: "... teaches you by means of opposites so that you may have two wings to fly"

Where I'm from

Have you ever had a scent seize you
as it laughs at time, at space
and throws you down a maze of memories?
To a place far, far away
one whose name has been effaced.
For me, that scent has always been
fresh fallen rain
mixing with that precious dirt.


I was born in a beautiful cradle
of ancestry, culture
a bedrock, a treasure house
of humane wealth.
But the clash of beliefs
the bitter taste of dispute
and a history of foreign exploitation
has made men of cloth
into ragdog generals
who enforce Orwell's 1984.

Where I'm from
it's custom to hear of a cousin
an uncle, disappearing
for having a tongue
and for daring to use it.

My father came from a family of seven brothers:
wrestlers and revolutionaries
who lost one of their own in battle.
I get my strength from my mother, her sister and my grandmother
who raised a university professor and a teacher 
but had to secretly sneak her two daughters to school everyday. 
I am a child of the revolution
born during war
laughing in the playground
of my mother's kindergarten
as I pointed up at the sky
while air raid sirens went off
and jet fighters flew by.

Trying to be heard
I've stalked over stifling walls
felt them close over me    
as I was discovered
like a common thief.
[For holding hands
I've ran from men in berets
their boots pounding on pavement
as I swallowed my own heart.]  **Needs revision

having two scheduled times
to use the washroom each day
in an isolation cell for thirteen months
at sixty-five years old
your family, unable to speak
even in their own home
house raids and wire taps.

There are welcoming ceremonies
for freed political prisoners
more joyous than weddings
more melancholy than a funeral.
For the rest
there is absolute


..I think I write poems
but there is endless poetry
that beats in the hearts
of those in dark, quiet cells
which will sometimes never be heard.


right now

Tonight I feel it stronger than ever.
Tonight I will not put up a fight.
Everything I've ever wanted,
everything that I could ever want,
is present in this moment.
There is nothing, that is not here
right now, in this instant.
What did I do to deserve this?
Oh let me give up everything,
that takes me away from this.

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

This moment

dec 8 entry:
If the smallest thing were to change in the course of this mutual history, in another life (or another dimension/universe or whatever you want to call it) this moment would not even be taking place.  And that alone makes this moment beautiful.  And there are infinite possibilities in each moment, but it is this particular one that is unfolding right now...continually unfolding like the blossoming of a rose, or the exhalation of a breath.  This moment could have so easily been eclipsed by the mountain of what-could-have-been or what-is-not.  And that too makes this moment all the more beautiful...in a way that is both fragile and frail, even in the face of the harshest illusions and realities.
Even [the] death [of moments], with its inevitability, and its embodiment of the utter lack of control, adds to the beauty of this moment.  Whoever equated control and the lack of it to right and wrong?  And why did I believe that-even for a moment?
Death is like the yin of each moment's yang.  Death is nothing less than life's Lover...it is that unparalleled artist that makes the most vivid canvas out of even the dullest colors of each unrepeatable moment.

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

passing reminiscence

My feet moved, but i did not
the ground gave 'way beneath
reeled [me] into vast distances
[i was] stretched, heated, blown into
pieced apart, in and de-flated.
Many faces were cast upon me
and for every person
I fulfilled a different role
they know the "moving me"
strangers all they may well be
there is nothing to know
but that I do not exist
there is only
the memory of you
and your movement.
That memory dances,
hiding from articulation
words are too cold--too lifeless
for your description
like trying to contain
the universe in the alphabet
when the only place
it has ever fit is in the heart

Monday, December 6, 2010

the unbroken

In the dark, it awoke,
before that first thought.
In the dark, something broke,
and from what broke, something spoke,
and what spoke, said that which broke,
and the one that awoke,
are just parts of a whole,
and what is whole can never be broken,
even in sleep, waiting to be awoken,
even in winding layers of dreams,
what is spoken, can not be unspoken,
and that which is unbroken, can not be broken.

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

knowing nothing

I know nothing of beauty
so let me know everything of ugliness.
I know nothing of love
so let me know the ins and outs
of hate and indifference.
I know nothing of ease, and release
so let me know the ways of struggle
till I no longer need to look for peace.
I know nothing of this instant
or this eternal moment
so let me know a lifetime
of time's subtle passage.
I know nothing.
Look at me looking for lifelines everyday
clutching at crutches
haha haha
I know nothing
yet Nothing does not know me.
But someday it will know me
better than I think I know myself.
One day, Nothing will turn our pages
and every single insignificant detail,
 neglected letter and hidden word
will coalesce into
a story so ...
an entire universe was born for its telling

Tuesday, November 30, 2010


I sit here
wondering what's real,
if you'll be like this
or like that,
really I'm discovering
parts of myself.
And that's what makes it
so exquisite.
I look for you, I see me.
I look for me, and I see you.

Monday, November 29, 2010

confessions p.5

She* said it would hurt,
and it does,
and I can...
I can be a great desert,
barren abyss, light-less.
I can be empty spaces
or Robert Frost's "desert places".
I can be the inertia of sleep,
I can taste everything
that I dislike, within myself.
And I will hurt,
and this heart will break,
and I can spend my moments
in lethargic nostalgia,
trying to pick up the pieces.


Or I can find that heart of hearts
in the spaces between moments,
throw it in abandon to the wind,
and I can laugh
in the face of each heartbreak.
And laughing, I can greet
each of Rumi's "daily guests,"
even sorrow and melancholy
will get their chuckle,
because there is something
in my soul that cannot be defined
in any emotional state,
some magical alchemy
that wants to flood out every day,
like pure being,
or the opposite of fear...

-Robert Frost's Desert Places:  http://www.internal.org/Robert_Frost/Desert_Places
-Rumi's the Guest House:  http://www.panhala.net/Archive/The_Guest_House.html

*the "She" in the opening line is a reference to this song:

Tuesday, November 23, 2010


Your kiss, lips circling
hovering soul speak
left hemisphere choke
motion merges to picture.
The sun kisses my face
solar eclipse at the mouth
hands wielding time, frozen
tasting the honesty in your tongue
the hope in your breath.
Reason fails here, lids shut
thoughts nestle, like jigsaw pieces
till I don't know your eyes from mine.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

tasting worlds

i have these vivid moments
when i see my words, my thoughts
captured in the stillness of an image
an endless sea 
of all the people i know
and maybe will know
each of them holds a world in his/her hands
each is a world in her/his right
in each lie untold possibilities
from each a particular light emanates
through each a thousand branches unfurl
and i, unrecognizable
drunk from everyone's fire
looking for that raging inferno
that endless drop
that setless sun
 into which I can disappear

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

my resolution

wish that i could let go.
wish that i could let u know.
i'm broken at the seams.
i'm in this all alone.
i've become almost ephemeral,
my center's become undone,
and there's no time, no extensions.
i'm sitting here sifting through words,
and bittersweet memories,
tired of being nostalgic,
tired of this ration that privilege has doled out to me,
and most of all, tired of being tired.
and i know there's no time,
no one gets extensions,
i'm here now and already gone,
this moment started and is already done.
i'm lost now and already found
in the spaces between moments,
looking for myself through your eyes.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

confessions p. 4

I turned away from the guests to the kitchen for a moment to gather a wet cloth and clean the spill.  I turned on the tap, and as the water flowed over my hands, I felt a sudden wave, of something intense, almost indescribable. The whole night flashed before my eyes, every single beautiful, unsaid detail, every little trembling accumulation of this overwhelming now.  What rapture there can be in the ordinary.  What rapture, in simplicity.

the confinement of words p.4

I sit here, juggling words
with hands that don't even work
because of this torrent in my chest
How can I weigh words
I have been made weightless
How can I make sense
when I have been struck senseless
How can I be coherent
when there is so much beauty around me?
Now, all I want is silence...

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Une Affaire de Coeur

I don't know how
under what guise
with what intent.
I've known no time
other than now
I've known no place
but here, the heart.
Given so much
in so little
from nothingness
'come everything.
Immersed in love
'round faithlessness.
Struck still in that
ascent of breath.
So much, know not
only knowing
that I, from naught
now standing on
the precipice
to everything.
There was no fear
during all this
nor certitude
no doubt, ego
no sense of self
nor greater whole.
I don't know how
under what guise
with what intent
from nothingness
I've come to taste
this endlessness.
I've known no time
other than now
I've known no place
but here, the heart.

Saturday, November 6, 2010

we've already known each other

I saw you like a face in a passing car.
Like someone picking out a familiar
voice in dark room of strangers.
I saw you like an intimate touch
stirring memories in my pores,
like a smell that grabs and throws
you down a forgotten alleyway,
or an unspoken language that seeps,
like water, through parched lips.
I saw you like a random reflection
of myself, like the residue
of an unborn photograph.
I see you now with closed eyes,
and it's as though each part of my body
becomes a hundred eyes
soaking in your being.

the faceless

For eons, I've searched
for your face.
Every taste of your trace,
is like life and death
in the same breath.
So long, I've listened
for your voice,
till tongue and ear 'come one.
If night and day
were man and woman,
it would be your song
that compels their feet into dance,
and sets the motion of the stars.
If a rose had hands
in the place of thorns,
it would uproot itself
at a (mere) hint of your glance.
If the sun could see
it would become your moon
and lay at your feet,
begging for just one glimpse.

If non-existence
could become existence,
then "I love you"
could mean "I love me" too...

Friday, October 29, 2010

when did I fall asleep?

I have these dreams where
I am searching, like a moth
through countless flames
for a raging inferno
burning for complete consummation.

I have these dreams where
every single moment of my life
is an unfathomable miracle in itself.
Where everything that takes place
is an unimaginably beautiful reconciliation 
of contradicting dualities.

I have these dreams
where I feel more awake
than I've ever been.
Where everything 
brings me back to you.
Where nothing needs a name
but everything has a story.
Where there is no longer any distinction
between the words "you" and "I"

Thursday, October 28, 2010

a bed of hidden nights and reveries

I had a dream, of walking a well lit road
In the distance could be heard words in many languages
The comfort of firelight lit the woods like fireflies
And the smell of food and the sounds of company
Joyous, full of laughter, made me pause, thinking it home
But restless, the road stretched on, carrying me with it
To different fires, different faces, different words and names
All saying: "rest awhile, take off your shoes"
My heart, I could feel in my feet
And weary, I laid them down to sleep
Yet when the dying coals became cold
I awoke, seized again with restlessness
In that shroud of darkness I could not find my shoes
So barefoot I stumbled on, until the road became a path
And even that, eventually disappeared
There was no moon, nor stars
I could not even see my feet
So gingerly they stepped, hesitant
Before my imagining of what lay ahead
In that darkness, sound became scent
Sight became touch, and everything was felt
There, motes of dust carried more weight than words
There, my eyes became my feet
My feet became my heart
And I could feel the grass blades bracing
For the kiss from the morning dew
Wordless, shoeless, I carried on

Thursday, October 21, 2010

To my mother, who taught me the reality of prayer

Last night I had a strange weep, I was reading Rumi poetry and I felt a strong connection immediately.  Vision blurred, I felt the familiar swelling from my heart.  I called out, with complete abandon.  I saw with closed eyes, a projection of the world moving outward to the universe, and somehow my silent cries-not the physical ones, broke its silence.  (The image of the universe was invoked by a Rumi quote: "The universe and light of the stars come through me.")  Somehow, almost not of my own accord, I started to cry out my own name-this had never happened before.  Something in me started to build up, alongside the swelling and through it at the same time.  It felt as though the beating swelling from my core became unfettered.  At the same time, I felt almost a gravity pull (my) focus inward.  Next thing I knew, I started to see that same universe inside myself.  There were large parts of me that were dark, deep, empty spaces, and galaxies upon galaxies of cellular activity, emanating a kind of starlight.  I stopped crying out to something undefinable, cried out to myself, lovingly gathered my own tears in my hands, gently pulled and caressed my own hair, all the while pouring that swelling sensation from my heart right back inside myself.  It hit me with the suddenness of laughter.
None of it matters.
None of these things to which I cling.
I could not help but laugh through tears.  
Anything can come my way.
None of this can take away from me
because not in a thousand lifetimes
could I fill this universe inside me.

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Waking Up

This morning I woke up
tasting the honesty in your breath,
in the emotive potential of flesh,
like emotions hidden in limbs
and memories that seep into bones
How can each moment
be anything other than perfect?
When each cumulative one, has led
to me standing here, before you?

When each one built on the next
and led us, to exchange glances now
through veils, so many veils
laid bare by the naked flame of the heart?

When they have led to this dance
inside my chest, forsaking breath?
Breathless...breath itself left forgotten
in the annihilating wake of your beauty.

Monday, October 18, 2010


My mind is always saying "I,"
but my heart is set on "You."
I just want the solace of "We."
When do "I's" stop being "I's?"
When they see only in "You's?"
What happens when the moon
eclipses the sun of "I?"
What happens when the heart
is stricken mute and the mind dumb?
What of the spaces between 
desire and fulfillment?
What of that moment when perception 
and perceived become one?

don't talk

Save me your words,
I want to taste your silences.
Save me the confusion of words,
the way they slip from your mouth
tells me more than they ever could.
Don't hear me out, feel me out.
Lay a hand on me, as I speak.
Feel the journey of these words
through my skin, in its blushing color.
Listen to the emotive potential of flesh.
Taste my breath with yours, I can hear
the dance of your heart through your lips.

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Ode to Friends

If today were my last day
I would owe it to you my friends.
It was your songs that burned me to life
Your love stories that made me look for my own.
Your tears, that paved the way for my laughter
And your laughter, that brings me now to tears.
I know nothing but our reconciliations.
I know nothing but the fires 
You have lit in my heart.
I've risen with you at your best
And lain with you at your worst.
Everything I am, all that I can say
Are both accumulations of you.
All I know is that there is nothing
Greater than union with you
Under the roof of this halfway home
Before that final destination.
And that's why there has to be separation between us
so that yearning may glow, and grow brilliant.
Oh would that I always have the disheveled air of a lover for you.

Friday, October 15, 2010

untitled 3

I was given a world!
What am I to do with it?
I've added rules and regulations,
sizes, formats, tastes,
codes, lines, boundaries,
and so many adjectives.
I need neither approval
nor judgment
to know it,
to know myself.

dear reader

I saw a timeless face, and it was both fleeting and enduring. 
Please, I am not trying to sell you anything.
I am happy here in my corner,
singing, weeping, feeling, being,
and if you would care to hear my song a moment,
to taste its bittersweetness, its secret joy in sorrow,
then I look forward to our companionship of words. 
You need not look me in the eye if you can read with your heart.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Black and White

I learned fear, and its different forms.
I learned anger, hate,
attachment and want,
inclusion and exclusion.
I took the road of everything pertaining to the self,
only to retrace my steps
and unravel the bindings I’d taught myself.
I broke everything that could be broken
to find my truth.
I’m tired of “I’s” and “you’s”
I’m tired of divisions and distinctions,
and all the lines and limits,
the 'rationality' and 'wisdom,'
that color the world black and white.

This love

I do not know the ultimate destination.
Becoming the source of existence is beyond me.
I only know that when I feel this love
my world stops
like the breathless lover.
When I feel this love
I laugh and weep, awestruck
as perception and perceived melt together.
When I feel this love
there is no right, no wrong
  or any judgment.
When I feel this love
do not speak to me of anything but
no...this love 
makes me not want to speak at all.


I am only here, to remind you of the dawn
to paint the brilliance of the stars
so you can see their light at will.
I had a name once, a livelihood
that weight, I cast off
shell that it was.
I lost myself in the meaninglessness of names
embraced namelessness to find my meaning.
I stripped away belief and disbelief.
Naked, afraid, against the immense rush of the torrent
yet only in the most violent currents could I find calm.
My nakedness became my shield.
I come to you with head bowed and hands open.
Let me sleep by your side, sharing your dreams
I promise to tread lightly. 
You don't need to say a word
dreams are written in the languages of the heart.
Don’t you see I only want to get under your skin?
I live to see you at your most vulnerable
tortuously naked against the relentless barbs of this raging flood.
For only the sharpest blades can hew a bleeding heart out of stone.
And in the waves of your bleeding heart
will you hear its language, unspoken and wordless.
Already tripping over your words, your mouth stops talking
and your eyes, your eyes, they speak of all your stories!
I see entire worlds glimmering in their depths.
Join me in wordless conversation
don’t listen, feel.
Let me see through your eyes.
Let me feel your stories as my own.
Leaves of one tree, we live through each other.
*option 1 (Give me your lips
let me breathe for you
and feel you tremble with life.)
I lay before you with this broken body
I can't give you my heart
that isn't for me to give away.
*option 2 (So let me give you my lips instead
so you can breathe for me
and feel me tremble with life)
In your eyes
I see you heart bleeds too
let us bleed together then.
As one in the blood-letting
like individual veins leading to the same heart.

Monday, October 4, 2010

the confinement of words p.3

Three letters I gave for this infinite alphabet,
all of myself, for the heart to speak it.
And still, speechless, empty handed...
This continuity of impermanence,
like clutching smoke, seeking solidity,
sifting through ash, for that which doesn't burn.
Before the sanctity of breath,
I am nothing but the formlessness
that defines form,
the forgetfulness before memory
and the latency that gives birth to bloom.
This dance, from nothing to something,
and its love story in every entity,
is my only articulation of being.

untitled 2

You breathe, like waves.
Eating silence.
Humbling time.
Shaming beauty.
Your eyes, like god
And me, kneeling,
begging, for just,
one, glance.

first time i saw the milky way

The palpitation of planets,
swirling heavens,
an entire universe held
together by the gravity 
that resulted from 
a single instant of pure love.
And I, tiny speck, barely afloat
in an ocean of possibility,
not worth existence's notice.
What master architect 
deemed such understanding from me?
What ploy, what devilishly divine 
scheme lies in locking
the seed to all being
in each human being?

Saturday, October 2, 2010

the confinement of thought

Even in this writing
My binds show themselves
I think I'm a moth
Searching in darkness
I think I'm an "I"
I think that I think
I have some idea
of what is happening
The truth is I don't
I am unfolding
Becoming unthought
Quiet, between breaths
My heart talks of death
What I think is death


link to related poems


I was the stranded shore of memory
against your lapping waves.
In your breath, I relapsed,
nostalgic, over the foaming crest.
I was in love with the changing leaves,
heedless of whispers, racing for noise,
running from silence, vilifying
everything, when it was all me.
Each time I broke was the last time,
each tear, the seal of the letter
I never quite finished writing.
So long, it took me to realize
the impossibility of every moment.
In roaming the sleepless streets of love,
I had not even taken one step
and already, I was in pieces.
So I crawled, on hands and knees, weeping,
tasting the footprints set before me
alchemy of tears lighting my way.

confessions p.2

This gradual build up
of nights and stray tears
from trickle to flood,
all bearing your name.
Each whispered breath
repeating one plea,
relief from this burning
being and non-being,
seeing, not believing
eyes closed, heart open
feeling for essence
among non-essence.
Would that I were not
but the breeze of change,
would that I could say
that I regretted
did not have enough
couldn't see, but no.
You render speechless,
not defined by word,
my tongue hides your name,
you're all I think of.
It is you bleeding
through my heart's hollows,
start and only end,
means and every end.
So this breast I bare
defenseless, needless
before reflections
of my own faces.

A mother's dream

When night wails its loneliness
her separation of flesh
brings to tide woe and longing
feeling, seeing blind, she reaches
conjures possibility
attends me in white, glowing
peaking, then fading away.
She flutters, and her motion
carries me into the unseen
without feet, I step over
every threshold of the real.
I fade, she flares, burning  time.
What more? What more o goddess?
my every breath, tear and call
not mine, not mine, only yours.


Breaching sight, I look
for you through veils,
without hands, I reach
to feel bare hearted,
I forget myself
in your memory.
My eyes lie to me
they lie about you,
every word could not
contain such presence.
I am overwhelmed
by your stillness,
become nothing
in your shadow,
consumed, consumed,
by your burning.


We are smoke,
we are smoke,
I refuse 
to be stagnant,
assuming form 
in formlessness,
dancing into every
before I am dispersed
unto everything.

confessions p.1

I thought I made out on this journey ten years ago
today  I realize I was born to love you.
Somehow I came to be out of this yearning for you.
Every night I am maddened 
by the thought of what I would do
once [re]united with you.
Reason!  Flee from me!
Words! Mutiny!
so that I may never articulate love.
Sight, leave me
so that I may never see in black and white.
Heart, oh heart, break and break again
so that I may finally be free.

the confinement of words p.2

In this life, I only wish 
to say a few things,
I yearn to mold word to thought,
hah! I'm already outdone.
I only want to make a word
strain in sorrow like the flute,
whispering the secret joy of death, of breath.
And yet, I am wordless before my essence,
I live only to speak this language without words,
once uttered, I will be relieved of this circling dance.

hallway sunset

The tiniest dust particles start floating, as if on strings.
They dance, swimming in tune with "Winter's Embrace,"
golden-lit against the backdrop of a piece of the sun.
The clock refuses to tick,
a curtain of gold gently falls when Apollo's lost twin,
hidden from the rest of the world in this hallway,
becomes too much for me, caving inside,
leaving residue like unborn photographs.
Such stillness can not make sense of any rush,
I emerge from its cocoon,
aware again of breath, of animated motion 
in the absence of that effortless dance.
Apollo's twins have all gone home,
and in the twilight of transitions
I am left looking back at a stranger in the mirror.

**Winter's Embrace --> www.altusmusic.ca

Friday, October 1, 2010

just the thought of you

Like that invisible shudder of the heart
before the birth of each tear
you seep into my fugitive folds.
I don't have words for what you do to me.
when faced with the infinite well within,
just a shadow of your memory
leaves me quaking, like floodgates
holding back before I spill out everywhere.
I am beyond bewildered
by the trace of your aftertaste.
I'm a moth fascinated by your fire
lovestruck from every moment of being.
You spread universes before me
as I serve you my head 
in the platter of a lifetime

something in my room

My bed smells of random tears
the wrinkles of the sheets
are like lovers entwined
the pillows taste like gratitude
for nothing to some
everything to me.
Sleeping alone
has become my refuge 
to reality from this dreaming.


I forgot about the tranquility 
of the universe,
the proportions of cosmic stillness
have no room in this bubble I think is me.
I am tired of running from silence,
I want to taste every touch,
and listen to the story of every scent.
I want to live the death of every soul
that journeyed forth before me.
What is it about the wake of death
that slows down time?
What glimpse of the eternal 
is revealed before the soul
takes that step without feet?

the confinement of words p.1

I don't know how to make words out of tears,
nor from the kiss of forbidden lovers.
These words leave me clumsily,
attempting to articulate 
that which can't be worded.
I can not explain the endlessness
that brought me to my knees,
this life broke my heart
it is so beautiful,
surely the next one will kill me.
I know just as these words 
are only shadows of tears,
so too is this world
a mere shadow of the next.


I heard music so beautiful
it made me want to run away.
The strains were so painfully perfect
I wished I were deaf.
Each lilting note questioned 
this fabricated veil of life,
and as the song wailed and rose,
so too did the veil,
and now
I am deaf, blind and mute
in bewilderment,
all I can hear is your voice
cascading around me, 
halting reality.
Somehow lovingly, 
it makes me want to stop being.
I have nothing
and yet, there is so much beauty
in the world that I wish to show you.


I want to breathe in your light
and soak in your breeze.
I want to touch your warm earth
and taste its freshly rain dampened dirt.
I want to hear the language of the wind
and listen to the stories it carries away.
I want to consume every scent as daily bread.
I want to listen to the rustle of dried leaf veins in autumn
and reflect all those dying colors.
I want to feel the trembling quake 
of newborn life amidst a garden of bones.
I want to be overwhelmed in all these senses
and catch a passing glimpse of your presence.


I've lost myself in the bottomless well of the heart.
I sometimes make my way up to the light,
but the pregnant and trembling unknown of the darkness
calls hauntingly,
promising life and death, over and over.
Until every line is made and crossed,
every path shaped and tread upon.
Until every tear shed, every heart forged and broken,
until every word said, and deed done.
Every lesson learned, relearned, and unlearned,
and until every love is lost,
and in bleeding, reclaimed.