❝ sweetheart i say,
and i mean something lighter than beloved
something truer than dear
something richer than honey.
sweetheart i say,
and it begins with a kiss and melts into a smile
falls to a sigh and drops to a pulse
rises in an effortless crest
ends light as air.
sweetheart, i say,
and i mean you. ❞
❝ i was feeling self-destructive
so i kissed an angel and left it at the altar ❞
--how to heal a heart that never had a chance at breaking
❝ i say i want to write poetry and by that i mean i want to write about love and so i open a blank page and i begin and all that spills out is everything but love, is the absence of it, is the yearning for it, is the remembrance of it, is all the places it used to be and all the ways it used to taste and all the ways i held it close and every way and every time that i let it go or i lost it or it left me.
i say i want to write poetry and by that i mean i want to write about love as it is now, right now, but i can’t, i can’t, because it’s never here, it’s something i had and something i want, something gone and something coming. it’s not for now, it’s not for here, it’s not for this, it’s too big for all that, it’s only visible, only tangible, in hindsight and in headlights.
i say i want to write poetry and by that i mean i want to write about love, but right here, right now, it’s something simultaneously flying away and flying toward me, and by that i mean i am always waiting and always looking back at it long gone by. ❞
— i say i want to write poetry and by that i mean i want to write about love and by that i mean i will always be wanting to write about love and by that i mean love is all that’s left
❝ you are a star, it says, a flickering light in a vacuum, a void, a lack.
you dim and then brighten and age and consume and burn and rage and guide and beautify.
i should think that is worth the sadness.
i do not feel sad when i see you.
i feel love. ❞
—an angel to a child of adam
❝ there are butterflies flying around a mountain long, long gone,
the moon is a dead, empty thing that is still beautiful, still shining,
& i will go on, i will be
❝ i think if stars were edible
they’d taste like grief
but not the kind of grief you hold in
not the kind that suffocates you
turns you rotten and rotting.
i think if stars were edible
they’d taste like the kind of grief that washes you out
the kind of grief that’s a good long cry
and every day it’s like an ocean in your chest
and the tides roll down your face
and the roar of waves come crashing out your mouth
and you fall asleep, spent and clean and still tear-streaked
but every day that grief stills a little more
quiets a little more
rippling every now and again
smooth as glass
which is, after all, only sand enflamed ❞
—it's clean, this grief, and it sings softly for a long, long time
❝ sometimes you speak stars into being (they are very small but very bright) and other times the words that fall out take root and grow into briar roses and morning glories
(or is it mourning, glory?)
sometimes you drag yourself out of bed or into bed and leave bloody footprints in your wake and if you listen clearly you can hear troy falling and achilles roaring but other times it’s only the hush of rain welling in the imprints of toes, arch, heel
sometimes you laugh and smile and dance and drink and i think, dionysus has returned but other times i see you limp, and i think of hephaestus, who works wonders even so ❞
❝ I feel like the seams that hold the shape of me together will
gently unravel through the holes in my spirit and
let me drift away in pieces beyond the sky into
space that seems infinite to our superbly limited minds for
all things have an end and a beginning and I know I
will be forever lost in the overarching great lack between
things of light and fire and magnitude and weight and
space negative and free and absent and I
will be an insignificant free-wheeling speck
u n t e t h e r e d ❞
❝ Do you see Him in the sweeping of the branches, leaves caressed by winds unseen?
In the leaping and rushing melody of water, tumbling along its preordained course?
In the quiet glow of the moon, gently illuminating the fearsome night?
In the scattering of the stars in skies dark, guiding the seekers and the lost?
In the vastness of the untameable seas and oceans, and the dark worlds hidden in her depths?
In the loftiness of mountains soaring high and in the shadows of valleys hollowed?
Verily is remembrance of Him the Creed of all Creation, conveyed by Messengers and Prophets beloved.
Do you see Him in the sweeping of the branches, leaves caressed by winds unseen? ❞
❝ you are tired of burning troy, and laughing helen, and screaming cassandra, and the wooden horse.
you are tired of the follies of men whose heels and whose hearts will destroy them, of men who grasp after women in the face of calamity, of men who die in the shape of their love.
and then one day, you dream.
in the dream, sand blows across your feet, hot and rasping, under a sky so blue it blazes white, and the sun shines against a mosque that is only palm fronds lashed together.
in the dream, you hear the call to remembrance in the clear voice of a freed man, and it rings in your chest like a stone being lifted.
in the dream, water flows from dry earth with the drum-beat of a baby’s heels, and the baby laughs, his tears drying, and the mother cries, her tears joyous.
in the dream, there is a city, and a lover, most beloved, saying, believe, believe, believe.
in the dream, a company of angels rear against a battlefield, shining and terrible and vast, like a sandstorm of light. the enemy flees.
you wake from this dream with shame burning you, like the kiss of a disappointed mother on your brow. ❞
—how sorry you are that your tradition is a stranger