Friday, July 18, 2014


I was weaving fabrics from bottles
overlapping shadow hands, fingers not quite latticed
soft but getting stronger
tossing scraps in tiny piles
“a sign of terrible frustration”
had you yet arrived? towards a glorious, expanded well-being?
entranced by serious,
pitch black fire glances.

i know why you fled
and I suspect a dark posture,
pushing your ankles deep in mud.
crushing, morning heat
will burst inside your dented atmosphere
cyan breezes chill the cliff edges
closest to your seaside home.
and found myself in weathered arms.
shimmering, kissed with spots of yellowed glass--
eyes transfixed in disco moonlight.

golden, dusted shoes and faded curls
burned the sleep from our eyes.
my arms uplifted,
fingers brush through veins of clouds--
aged and wondrous
a form shrouded in dimly lit textiles,
woven intentionally
by my tropical hands.
physicality becoming clearer;
your form etched
rough, bent and gleaming-
in coral sand.

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