---

∴

this holding
without being held
is like a subway basin
sans the train;

it’s a place
of destination,
going nowhere,

not at all.

 

it’s there,
in the midst of motion,
meaningless –

and the checking
of my purse
and of my phone
and of my lists
and of my weight –

that stillness gives its greatest gift:

 

stop the boat from rocking
and the seaman
brags a jig.

 

do you see?
do you see
what moves inside of me?

 

it was never the trains
nor the boats –
the vehicles of new arrival –
that brought me anywhere;

but the motion,
moving,
song and soul,
that brings the being
forth to bear.

∴

 

 

---

 

---

∴

she is veiled tonight;

though no less
lovely,
full,
or bright.

 

not all things
sensed,
unseen
are
gone –

nor lack they
beauty
or
wondrous
might.

∴

 

 

---

 

---

∴

i think we fall up

when we fall

in love

and it’s the high we

find hard to come down from.

 

cause in love

is lofty

but deep love

is awfully

and longingly

groundsome.

∴

 

 

---

 

---

∴

in the meantime
is a long time
and it aches and echoes
with ages

since touch
since smell
since a smile
that forcelessly grows.

so i will dream
in remembrance
and stand in the presence
of time that moves on
for moving’s sake,

all this
i will do
while i wait.

∴

 

 

---

 

---

∴

tonight,
we lit candles
in a quiet house
and rested
in
abnormalcy.

 

this is how i grew up.

 

in silent sanctuaries
that don’t belong to me;

i’m just a tenant
on the land.

but i care for the details
and i draw the shades
and i keep it well
and i dress in spades

when i cook a still dinner
that only i taste
and savor every drop of broth
and lay aside the haste,

that we should
bask,
lovingly,
on mild nights,
the moon
and me.

∴

 

 

---

 

---

∴

i’ve been playing house

long enough to know

it’s more than furniture

that fills a home.

 

all shapes and sizes

of comfort

can be shoved therein –

 

or none at all –

 

no matter the number of pillows.

∴

 

 

---

 

---

∴

i might wonder –

now that all things
have become still and silent –

if this is deep time,

wherein
nothing is wanted
nor expected,

nothing is pleasing
nor preferred,

nothing is a thrill
nor devastation.

 

it is not numbness
but rather
weightlessness,

for how can burden
push upon you
without the gravity
of situation.

 

if it is so –
but how can it be so –
i would ask:
what now?

 

if it is a dream,
should i wake?

if it is a fall,
should i land?

if it is deep time,
how does it once again
become shallow
and spent?

 

is it only the new identity –

vying for entry,
scrambling with others,
like sperm to egg,
bounding forward with innate urgency
and reflexive instinct
to create new life –

that would start the clock
ticking again,
to birth,
to death,
and regeneration?

∴

 

 

---

 

---

∴

i suspect
kindness can alter the course
of doomed relationships.

i suspect
that the easy way out
is a door that leads to lost.

i suspect
that there is a third way
and that the rock
and a hard place
only add up to two.

i suspect
hope hides in the seam
between failure
and courage anyway.

i suspect
happiness
is an inside job.

 

i suspect…

 i suspect…

that i may not ever come into knowing

anything certainly,

but i will not let that stop me
from suspecting.

∴

 

 

---

 

---

∴

if we cannot

get along

somehow,

 

we are but tribeless chiefs,

beating our drums

in vain.

∴

 

 

---

 

---

∴

 

don’t let the apron fool you.

 

despite the veiny,
weather worked hands
that set the food,
in silent,
nonchalant normalcy
down upon the table,

 

and the gaze that may appear vacant
or resigned
to the young ones –

but they rarely look for life
in the eyes of elders, anyway –

 

and a mouth that only tells stories
on occasion now,
that rides her wrinkles
with a strange lilt in the corner
as in memory,

if not turned down
in worry.

 

don’t think
she doesn’t,
on occasion,
have the urge –

with fierce immediacy –

to run out into the woods,
strip herself of every strap
that ties in bows
around her,

and dance
(after primal screaming)
to the music
she had once made love to

when she was
a younger woman;

before she knew
what love can do to a girl.

 

·

 

i haven’t had them yet,
but maybe
that’s what hot flashes are:

God’s reminder
to get rid of the extra layers

and recall
that fire of
Woman,

that while needed
and useful
for the hearth,

is also essential
to the dance.

 

∴

 

 

---