The Owl and I
An unpublished landscape of feelings and rhymes
A rare moment
sitting content in a tower of wood and glass,
an eagle’s nest on a hilltop
as the sun lazily stretches
the shadow-fingered hand of time
across the long heavy table.
Drinking the silence through my skin
after a night of Halloween,
sipping on tea,
hearing my thoughts,
looking on the hazy city,
and me — from far.
A rare moment
suspended as a hawk before its breathless dive,
wordlessly close to him
who shared
skin to skin
the silence of being.
He is of the Light
I think of Loyd
shimmering light
surprised to see our blue planet
again
and hear the call of galactic winds
again
quantum leaping from star to star
playing catch with whooshing comets
reflecting on how long it’s been
a wink, a leap, a nova burst,
82 or 3 years…our time
since he’s felt
that young
that strong,
that vast,
that clear,
that full,
that light,
like an out-of-space alloy
dauntless and indestructible,
back from a spin
a dare, a game,
into that strangest of all worlds
weighed down by gravity
limited by a thing called time
a man-made clock more rigid than steel.
But no more!
A million worlds await his playful touch.
So do not cry,
He is of the light
free from the game
he recklessly entered
moments ago…
He is of the light.
Tide
Like a slow tide inexorably
rolling home
I have traveled the moving sands
of your body
heaving gently
under my hand.
Maya
A weekend rebel
tanned, strong and frail
confronting me angrily
with stubborn bravery.
She sits in my world
safe, but oh, so bored,
waiting for something,
a clue, anything,
a backstage pass to a show
she wants all her own.
Nowadays my high heeled shoes
have lost their glamour,
as she stands up by my side
barefooted but eye to eye
without lifting her chin.
Tears
Children cry
on their back
and their tears
flood their ears
and drown their heart.
Rain
Giants bolts of lightning
tear at the dirty velvet of my city nights
with electric nails.
Rain all over the land,
all over each and every tree
refilling all the water holes,
recoloring every leaf,
every tile, every bark
every dusty railroad track
with brighter shines of green and black.
Rain, rushing the ground, cooling the wind
drumming a song on trashcan lids
pouring new life into tree limbs
soaking my shirt, cooling my skin,
cooling the fever of longing
with the knowledge of the coming.
Transgression
There is something a little short about sex
Handed out like a twenty
To a close friend about to run
Out of love for someone else
There is something a little flat about sex
Fervently traded in the dark without a chill
Or the desire to bite and scratch
As if hanging with nails and teeth
To the expanded timelessness
Of a vortex slowly merging.
There is something rather kinky about sex
Administered with Christian zeal
When a preacher man transgresses
The warm halo of gentile love
For the pagan fires of wanting