Who shall love?

If you are not a beautiful creature

Is there love for you?

When the world appears bewitched by youth and eternal moment’s boiled to infuse

Who shall love?

Who shall love?

The imperfect and technically “past it”

When beautiful felt like;

The sound of heals clicking on marble

Then slippers

Then bare feet

Then silence

No attention for a certain shape, age, gaze

Consolation crows, grow your mind

Crack jokes

Have a sense of humor

Laugh at yourself.

Long before, boys fell in love with me first;

Because of an hourglass

A firmness

A tightness

A willingness

The measure of hips

And then later, aserbic wit

I say ignore the rules

Climb trees at sixty, chomping on cigar

Wear polkadots, rolling dice on roof tops

Make love in bramble hedges and countertops

We talk of politics and deep sea diving, the need for conscience, passion and chocolate biscuits

You didn’t need a perfect pair of legs or a tiny waist

Eventually you wanted a woman of four seasons

Who couldn’t hold her alcohol anymore and streaked across the lawn

A girl of seventy and four, mayflies buzzing in our ears

Who still beat you at arm wrestling and sang like an angel with grey hair

Opening her robe to your eager devour

For once upon, you were a youthful coward, chasing empty smiles

And now you lay in a woman’s arms marveling at her lines

The black and blue, and those she fought hard for, birthing children

Crossing her face like stars

More beautiful for their dance

On skin long past its prime and so fine

For a constellation is music over time

Then and only then, love breathes eternal

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Worshipping without words

A lovely girl

when she smiles it is like the world is rent and light bursts through

she takes my breath away with her thin, flickered wrists and how the tip of her tongue is used as signal

for her mood

no ink permanent enough to score

her mark upon my soul

like first cherry blossom, fragile in the cold, endures

a hundred lifetimes could pass and wouldn’t be sufficient

to show the depth of my attachment to her

two skaters on frozen lake, cutting eights over each other’s traversed shapes

I finish where she starts and begin at her end, to each the other, ascending like fireworks in indigo wash

when I hold her preciously against myself and hear the softness of time pushing past

a pain seizes my courage, to imagine myself without her is impossible

lift my chin, you’ll see her in my eyes, her reflection, her electric movement

it is said, do not rely upon another, for you will bear their loss

I do not know how to separate myself, we are woven, we are of the same material

cut with the same scissors and fashioned into human cloth

they left a part connected, a tug I feel when she is far

like a fistful of light, she once burned so bright I saw only her outline

if she was free, she’d still slip away, into the night just before herald of day

leaving her perfume and perfect sigh, she’d gleam, in midsummer eve

lingering through opened windows and flung hands taunting, the day to never end

she is a girl with eyes from the ocean, there are invisible lines leading me back

to her slim clavical and the motion of her sleeping dance

she wakens me in a dream, I am not able to feel deeply

without her muse, she has the gentle spirit and I am fired to chase her

through bluebells, and thin white trees, cupping their hands of green

worshipping without words

Crush

Her tiny breasts, dancers curved back

Silver earrings, steel grey hair, wet black eyes

We talk around, our varied folded desires

Hers may be, driving home in dusty truck to

A brown man who works with his hands

He can lift her and they dance at dusk, beneath solstice blossom

She feels she’s come a long way, her reedy soul throbs

Through back roads with weary curves, street lights illuminating her angular shape

And my desire is a velvet flame, like slow monarch flutters, trying to keep pace with winged migration

She is the swelling of a slow breathing, southern land

Shimmering in undulate mountains

Emptied of life, save thin cayote, sharp against moon

I am low to earth, crawling toward her wrist

Breathing the pulse of a woman, her careful sensuality

Turning in darkness, multilayered

Impossible to tame

This wide world

marthagraham1It is lovely

Watching you sleep

Perchance to dream

And with the late snow storm

Whitening outside like hungry baker

Spilling his bag of flour

We cocoon ourselves

Close by spitting fire

Casting spirit animals on chalky walls

The photos of your ancestors

Their ink held eyes glaring

I fear they may not understand

Our kind of intimacy

Their world scrapped tenderness

For raw knuckled survival, no time for choice

Yet we knead our own rise with weary elbows

Perhaps the nature of love has changed clothes

And now wears matching nightgowns, joining toes under blankets

Reading books with curling corners, still watching with appreciation

When like a slip of shimmering glass

You get up to draw the curtains

Only the sound of falling snow

Hushed against our warm roof

Can be heard in this wide world

Equal

At every juncture

The challenges are

Equal

For a five year old

First learning to fit in

Can be as painful as

A ninety year olds last breath

When we inhabit that moment

In the skin of then

We are incomparable

For one shall survive a flood

And another the passing of their favorite dog

A child may cry at a bad grade

Whilst her mother learns she must lose her breast

There are few compasses

In the search for meaning

We are not

Linear beings

To be that girl again

I breathe

Listening to the words

In my aching chest of wingless birds

They say

I am afraid

Today I woke and prayed

For a better day

And it didn’t come, though I heard the horses

They were galloping fast, they did not stop

How momma? Do we stay grateful? For every given hour of precious breath?

When scythe of hurt cuts so well and wraps the days away in little vials of hell

How to live in the present, when presently is torture, crushing her toes on pointe?

I try momma, I break the fine bones in my hands in supplicate, my arms making sundials on wanting earth

I ask my toy penguin

He eyes me with the same glass eye he has been using since I was little and he saw me break

And turn to seed and grow back into a girl who recognized he was real

And I know if there were a flood

I’d save before myself, that glass eyed toy

He has seen my days in ways nobody else, could or would

Though he is stuffed and inert, also the witness to each tug of war, his little cloth heart

Beats like a stray moth against my window pane

He tells me to remember

Despair will pass

A bad day is not forever, and so in time we’ll learn to hold, tighter

The unbearable and it may turn, like shaken snow globe, upside-down, white obscuring foul

Some slow imperceptable change of season, a sign, the very beginning starts with one

If he could speak and he does

He’d tell me to be brave and wear my best dress for the clouds cannot and will not persist

Take comfort in those smallest things

It could be one minute in an hours slow turn of hand

It could be one moment out of three weeks broken by tired cries

I am on my knees

I long for peace

And the quiet of memory reminds me

You have been here again and again

You have risen to answer the entreaty of a heart still beating

Longing to be released from her sentence

And if you look closely

There is still

A desire to overcome with the wish of a river to capture rain

Stronger than anything you’ve ever experienced, my penguin knew before myself

He is who I’d save, if the world exploded into flames, curling value to cinder

I am reminded of what I can feel by his capacity to shake, my despair out of her plan

To hang by tree and catch late afternoons air, as dead as last night’s terror

And I stroke his face

Wishing with everything that stuffs and fills to become me

To be free to laugh again

I promise him

To be that girl again

The silent strength

Take out the trash

And as you bend to pick up stray leaves

You see him standing beneath his grief

He wears it heavy like winter wool, boiled in tears

As a man, he doesn’t have the ways of expressing

All those pent up cries

For so long, he was his only resource

Clamboring into himself even further

A boy within a man, hand over mouth

His outward smile is tinged with sadness

Nobody sees because people want to believe

In smiles more than tears

Except me

I have nothing much of myself to recommend

I couldn’t compete, I couldn’t pretend

The square jawed boys at school

Saw through me, reaching for the swan necked girls

Who purred and swam in batted eyelash lakes

And like this man, I grew up shaping myself coarsely

Sometimes doing nothing more than observing

The way we treat others less fortunate

And I came to recognize pain

As if it painted a sign or put up lights

They say comedians are often depressed

Behind the mask, underneath their wax paint

I only know I see, as he bends to loosen the hose and

Water plumes into a cloudless sky

Giving himself permission to cry behind the spray

He hugs himself with cold arms and I watch

The boy who repeated this action until

He could stand without falling

His strength is greater for his fragility

I want

To save his heart

From the cruel ways of those who say they love us

Those, they hurt the most

As if love were a weapon to be used when you get closer

Everything is upside down and the wrong way round

The grey eyed man says

I have to act the opposite of who I am

Just to tred, the thinnest bridge

I am holding empty days in my hand

And husks of dreams beneath my chest

His face mimics the pain beneath his skin

But he trembled, long enough to see

The stricken moment, like passing ghost

The man he tried to be, the loss of certitude

I told him, hope was the only way

And even

When we believe we can take no more

And even, as our last support breaks and crumbles

Abandoning us in our hour of need

When we think we have lost everything and everyone

Staring at the edge wishing we could jump

Then the wind chime is caught by stray breeze

Faraway birds call into the trees

Then the mercy of a stranger leaves

The bearest memory that once

Before grief got in her punches

Reminder of something precious

Long ago when we had faith in ourselves

The little boy he was

Standing staring at the same sorrow

Decided it wouldn’t be the direction for him

Taking everything he had, he set out

To live inspite of it all

And he did

Now with bowed head he reminds me

Of a fallen angel, wondering how

To continue to fly or purchase peace

And I touch his shoulder

When I mean to reach inside

Warm his soul and keep alive

The silent strength behind his eyes