The moon is drunk

The moon is drunk;
Her eyes roll back, her head lolls -
she mutters and rages...
Who will take her home?

Gentle curses spill from my lips,
like diamonds too rough for jewelry;
I clasp the cool night - a sudden lover
The moon in my heart drunk also

Ingenuous, the night pales,
awaiting sun's mortal blow;
Each of us alone...
And like the moon, intoxicated.

Hope is a shoebox

This morning, I wrote a poem for you... but it was very sad.
I thought of a new word to describe things... but it's too hard to say.
...I let them pass, unimpeded

I uncovered an old memory, like a photograph in a shoebox
in my mother's basement that I thought I'd lost.
I turned it over and around, searching... wishing I'd taken better notes.

I will remember the tree, pointing to the sky like a finger.
...and the wires that hang here and there,
they seem to me now like pencil lines, dividing the world into spaces

I will remember this poem,
which is about things I have forgotten.

My hands are sad and made of wood

my hands are sad and made of wood.
speaking to them, I cursed...
and I felt in them the rain,
it gathers close around and shivers
too near to touch

...and there;
it dives deep and flashes,
like a dream that wakes then dimly fades
in thunder of eyelashes on my pillow, but you:
your words recede softly into that dark water...
casting shadows against my eyes

A poem for your mouth

I'm watching your lips
they speak to me twice
of butterflies in sweet grass
testing their wings
rushing and resting

your breath moves sweetly
carrying my heart
in a basket of feathers and stones
darting blue and green
resting low on your hips like jewelry

I'm drinking your lips
a story I've known and not known
tell me again...
while I close my eyes

Here!

Here! a
circle of stones, lustful
empire undressed, spreading
naked among the flowers, full of
sweet cakes and beer and gentle samba.

Now! her
hips warmly laugh, full
breasts like warm bread, soft
heart smooth like riverstone, gentle
whispers hiding softly among my bones.

my heart speaks in tongues
the warmth of her gentle hollows

InMyPocketICarryaPictureOfYouDreaming

InMyPocketICarryaPictureOfYouDreaming
wearing a hat that has been to the top of the world
and brought you back pictures of the powerful women there
one of them is you
another carries comfort
that brings you home

InMyPocketICarryaPictureOfYouDreaming

your hat is made of pictures from the top of the world
pictures of the ghosts that guide the powerful women there
to the secret future I glimpse behind your sleep
your eyes are that secret future
cathedrals to wondering
holding me tightly