Too warm, but it smells of snow. Some car sound, as if an owl– hollow note. The night comes on like gratitude, always there, but sometimes staggering in effect. I get too wan, too brittle, my tongue too parched to say just how I treasure things, but it would be a mistake to doubt it– no, I’m no collector, but give me the moon like a pearl on velvet, some shinning look– I could write a book on […]
Sometimes I feel shy as a rabbit caught in arrant moonlight– crepuscular, I loathe extremes. What is this light that floods my life? Am I prey or is this love, finally– for so long I have sought out gray: Too dark for night, too light for day– purposed impossibilities. It isn’t only doubt that makes my heart race, but those howls at dawn chill my heart to an ice-clotted lake. Everything is loss: Of stars, of sun– […]
The standoffish cat is asleep now, doubly distant. Behind the hanging blinds is an unlit lot. The only things that move are branches, and the second hand of the wall clock that isn’t turned back yet. No balmy night, no quiet stars, just the hum of the refrigerator and a glass of water— the wind isn’t enough to stir me, no, so here I am still, alone and in love
Funny how an absence can feel so weighty. Of course I still breathe, but the air is rarer, and I turn a little blue from time to time. Is there a word for the echo of an embrace? I swear, I can still feel it in my arms on nights like these, starless and wakeful, resting like a chill for as long as I can keep it.
[Albedo]* No stars, but the city lights over-compensate at night– this is still the world of the living. All these towers are lit up in all sorts of hues, incandescent warmth, white and cool blues, as more diffuse clouds come in over the bay, and on their belly, a feeble pink reflection– the sky between is void, matte and colorless, an unanswered question, a voice left hanging– just think of a photon traveling across the […]
What’s in a name– ownership, or creation? When my friends say yours it makes me blush– On my tongue it’s like a river or a question, gently, but heard it is still a shock, que existes! The way they say it, the yours is implicit, but from me the yours is more an entreaty– contestalo pronto, por favor
Heart, heart, what did I say? Oh the moon got into you, the moon, the sky, the lake— and then you went and showed your face, boldly, no hesitancy, and so now, we wait— How vast, this night. And just like that I can finally admit, it isn’t that I fear your loss— what terrifies me most is that some day you may be right. Or some evening, sitting […]
These are quiet shards calmly and cooly collected no more shock no reaction at all another drink poured by a steady hand mastery in a sense but no reward perfection is not lovable what a stupid thought that was
I read your strange words exquisite humming-bird- like airy in their armor not grounded all restless sheen and oiled whisper and light metallic feathered fusible and false I know this is not love it is envy of your heart that loves and loves others so tangibly so tangibly have you written its racing–
OPTIONAL POETRY 