Sparks, Scars

Our silences, like sparks -
they illuminate tenderness
we've preserved deep,
deep inside our hearts.
Like the sun dizzying the edges
of an old sculpture,
like the night replacing all colours,
like a bird's wings,
brushing deadness away from skies -
his eyes
touch me, and I,
turn a wave.

My evening, the mistress of gold,
trembles at the thought
of having been told
that scars (stars) will replace her jewels.

Fence

I eye this fence at night:

darkness billows, runs past it.

I think of wearing a word

and crossing over the fence -

quitting for an hourglass' worth of time

the world of pretense.

Blue, the banks; red, the brook -

beyond the fence I only look -

look at the barrenness that may

bloom me and itself

once I cross the fence

for a tiny hourglass' measure of time?

I seed wait into the window pane -

nothing blooms.

Darkness wags a tail,

unwelcome, yet so inside

my side of the fence.

The Temple at the Shore

"Could the sun be a summit kindled
by the wild fires in a sculptor's hands?"
Thoughtful, I stood at the temple dwindled
by the majesty of those rocks and sands -
rocks that had melted in the face of art,
sands that had risen from the ocean's heart.

A temple at the shore, waking white tides;
raking sapphires off the glossy skies!
Silence at the altar, shadows at sides -
could the shrine be more than met the eyes?
I stood at the altar swindled of belief -
the temple was souls cast into relief.

This wonder bestirred a walk to the sun -
wanting, I shed myself at the reef.
Soul found sanctuary in the horizon;
body at the altar, a shrinking leaf.
Salvation, the ascent to the peak of thought -
the sun, a summit kindled by art.

Freeing a Kite

Shortening pencils, lengthening the night -
I scrawl your name like I'm freeing a kite.

I close my eyes and am born in yours -
the tattered clouds conjure a light.

You graze a gaze on the fields of my face -
I loaf a grain in your delight.

Withered straws, we bloom new selves
when walked upon by the other's sight.

We, who never own that we own,
are inflamed tides that shores blight.

Shortening pencils, lengthening the night -
I scrawl your name like I'm freeing a kite.

Black

Before I learned circles were vicious,
long before my time turned malicious,
I had seen and known a benevolent soul,
within this pit, this bottomless hole -
I dwelt a wave of music; my hands clean;
I didn't perceive all that was but unseen.

Like a postponement of conscience,
like an ever - oscillating innocence,
I was strummed into a tune I didn't hear.
But now, sadly, everything is clear -
there's a tunnel that runs ahead of vision
and you're contained against your derision.

Your seeing the snake does not help at all;
you are caught forever in the free fall.
You run, you stop - the spiral continues;
the daze sickens and yet more life ensues.
What’s worse is that you look for a way back
into blindness, innocence, the colour 'black'.

His Eyes Gasped

I was just beside him when his eyes gasped -
an afraid acceptance of love at last?
Unmoved, yet perceiving the tender clasp
of his gaze and my being, and our needs vast.

I arched a bloom when he looted my colours
and then in pain he turned; his eyes gasped.
Unsaid words, toppling over the covers,
I heard everything and nothing asked.

And then he chose to tell me what went wrong
with the air that held me, the quiet that rasped.
And I heard it all - this that blurred our song -
and I lived it all while his eyes gasped!

I was just beside him when his eyes gasped -
his afraid acceptance of love at last.

Pride

My pride I prize -
this, that scales my spine
then ebbs into the eyes,
is the soul's firework,
a celebration that would do.

I eat up all boxes.
Toxic, they call me.
My tears, Antarctic termites -
I'm the beat of winter.

There's a dearth of death, in here.
Ribs snake a scape; create
shapes; and the careless dance
is an existence, a celebration,
a treat, a toast raised
but in surprise.

I am. I am not.
And yet my wrists are kissed
by lips that could be mine.

And pride. The spine.