Will

Does the wood pigeon know?

when he calls his coo into the night

the cats who stalk will slink toward

the smell of blood and feathers

as I have gathered myself into quills

and spices sealed in alabaster jar

the sum of me is traveled

through moon and sun

like a cut orange leaves her

stain on wood, sticky and bitter

as your imprint has become

my mandala and the furtherance of us

defies life and death

shaking itself off like a dog released from bath

will hurtle, maddened, toward nearest escape

I grew my vines in your wood

my embers are your fire

this melange of you and I

twined like grapes gathering sunlight

before first frost

and the women take in the clothes, hanging on frozen line

even as they capture the day’s warmth

you stretch in this paper thin life time

sew the jagged edges of my need

with your ivory needle

as if we were part of the same

garment

held up

by

sheer

force of

will

Devour

Brag of nothing but the day uncertainty will end

Lurching against time, we sway unsteadily in impatient thick air

Cleave to me, together we are captured amber beneath magnetite

When her mouth opens, my fingers twitch by my side to devour

her breath is anise and flowers, her skirts are thick and unyielding

she opens like a late blossom, sheltered from bad weather, will surely

be most radiant

Lovers for everything

evelyn_mchale-suicide-1050ft-jump

I’m so cold

my fingers are chaffed to crepe

and I think of you

curling my bunions and split ends into smiles

you who thought my high forehead, regal and grand

you who turned my flaws into delights

misting unflattering mirrors to better light

I think of you and how

I felt when you regarded me

with the bright eyes of love

that dimmed and winked out

gradually until even the blind could see

you no longer held me in your esteem

that’s when I told myself

don’t depend upon the love of others

to hold you to the light

do not need the touch of someone who desires you

to be all right

but who am I kidding?

even the flower

the feral cat and mocking bird

the sky, the earth and all between

even the damn puddles and muddy stream

needs someone to say to them

you look lovely still

you make my heart skip a beat

even if it is a bush or bramble hedge

maybe out there in the wild there are

lovers for everything

whilst I

try to find in not being loved

the companionship of silence

but it is not

no it is not

good enough

for quiet endurance does not have

your caring arms

holding me from the world

turning me from lead to precious metal

nor the ardor of your eyes

reminding me to shine

when I think I cannot

no

that hope is lost

the day you turned your head

no longer delighted by my flaws

I am just ordinary now

and a bunion is a bunion

sticking out of my shoe

at rude angle

as sorry as any malformed bone could be

to lose such fantasy