12

the emerging of light,
and the breadbasket of a bounty
placed before my hands,
the hands, the palms, the fingernails,
the pristine nails, the clarity of them,
the touch of the nails against smooth bodies of skin,
the skin, the soft wrapping of the nails,
the quiet wrapping of the palms against the seams
of my body, against the outline, the stitches that trace the outline and contours of the inside,
running of the fingers down the core of legs,
slow touchings on the embracing body being borne by the embraced,
the hairs stand by their ends and dwindle like threads,
the threads of my loins that move as minutes pass into hours, into weeks, into months, into years,
the face becomes hard and boiled over,
the aging face wears itself,
face that is young, that is soon to be old;
it will look forever the way it looks as it sees the face of you,
of eternal time shown in a face, the intervals of the face, the bone of the face warily accepting the mortality of being a face,
the opposite face,
the face of yours,
hugs my felt tip hairs,
nestles my deepest hairs,
i stand on ends,
your yellowed face melts my being,
i am a phosphorous flame,
enabled to burn,
the end, the root of the sun,
the taste of wheat amongst the open fields,
encompassing the length of miles,
trail, stream, life giver, sustainer, and supporter of words,
cultivator of youth, divinity of youth,
your face sparks reflections,
your face enables history, veins to flow and to run,
lips that chisel the hardness of age and the current of wind blown from your breath as it sucks into my mouth, the wind, the air that i breathe,
my soul is blown back into me,
i can feel myself breathe from the inside,
the body is lifted, the soul is made indent,
the etchings could never wither,
you are not mechanical time,
time as an abstraction, that beats measurably,
a constructed artifice of human heart,
you are the continual time,
the time that is not aware of itself,
time that simply is,
epochs are constructed out of your wind,
the same wind that every face knows,
the crispness of your wind,
blow into mouths and indented souls,
cornucopia of wheat,
sustain life to my presence,
brick layer to my body,
put me down to rest,
on the green dewy grass,
lay my body there,
and build foundations on top of me,
monuments may be erected over me,
and roads may pave themselves above my soil,
let cars pass above me,
and let plants grow on my nourishing top soil,
giver of life,
founder of my body,
open your petite mouth and blow air into me,
let my wind exit,
let my wind be fueled by the wind of your mouth,
let your wind be the calming orange of a setting sun,
let your wind be the spark of winter and the birds that migrate south,
let your wind be the the birth of a newborn babe, and let her suckle the napes of her mother,
let the wind plant the atmosphere of living,
you who gives all life,
the blood of history flows from you,
dead bodies walk above you,
on your never withering top soil,
brick layer,
mouth of the sky,
speak to me and absorb me,
you ignite fountains from below me,
and my heart tremors in your awe,
brick layer,
life giver,
sustainer of words,
inspiration of divinity,
woman of the night,
woman of the day,
woman of the sea,
woman of the sky,
bring forth yourself into me,
and never exit.

11

and i love your mouth,
and the way it presses to me,
touches the ends of my lips,
absorbing the smoothness,
it is like that of the joining of two worlds,
that have come together,
that have proclaimed themselves as one.
from opposing hemispheres,
two worlds have touched mouths,
from across oceans,
their waves have swallowed each other,
and have overflowed,
how the jubilation sings when your mouth touches mine,
the suction of your air into my breath,
as breaths join breaths,
and a unified breathing ensues,
the hardness of my lips that had not been touched,
and the smoothness of yours and mine,
when they had,
touched for the first time,
under stars,
under moon,
we kissed,
and how i love when you always kiss me.

10

Walk with me in the morning,
That we both arise from sleep,
The winking clouds prohibited me,
An obstruction, where I was not to see.

Walk with me over the landscape,
Let the sun join us through an open window sill,
Never disable me from seeing,
Never let the wind crush my back and frost bitten chest,
Never let the sky pour its rain onto me,

Let my morning hands grow to you,
As a flower, fed from the enriching Sun,
That its rays find me.

Sleep with me in the midnight,
Breathe on me,
Mark my body with the scalpel of your mouth,
And never let me pierced by thorn,
Never let my back side brush against the harsh wood,
The cones that seep through my side,

Tickle me with your feet, petunias, rose blossom,
Stare onto me with the well defined eyes of the midnight,
Oh, and the way you curl you lips,
And your teeth bite the outside,
The method of your face,
The way it speaks,
So innocently,
Speaks to me,
When there is not a word to speak,
And the way you say that I love you.

Oh, how my head rests in your lap,
And how you massage my cheekbones,
With your rose scented palms,

Walk with me in the morning, and sleep with me in the night,
So that I may be present with you,
Never absent,
II


I had left, I had scarcely left a footstep or an imprint,
I had the tussle of leaves blown onto me;
A breath that had made itself absent from me at that night,
I supposed that I would sleep alone, and I would lie there,
On the dampened mattress and the putrid ceiling that cover,
Room, floor, door, wall,
I had left, but I never wanted it to be that you left,
Or that I left,
Because I had a clarity of vision,
That I would always walk amongst your footstep,
And I would always receive your mooned eyelids,
That sink into my throat,

I did not want to sleep alienated,
But it is only hope, that you wrote about,
And that I read from you,
That can not escape even the most dimmest,
The most mundane,
The rapturous thunder,
How its song like a sickle,
And made the winds churn into frightened distress,
I pull the covers down over my face,
With only the hope that you spoke of,
To enrapture me forever more,

But, I had left,
Scarcely marking an indentation into the ground,
I was absent from body or mind,
But I could not see you there,
I wanted you to be as the one that danced into the fields,
Of poppies, of marigold, of wheat,
And to sing a harmonious song,
That you are in tune with nature,
That you are the life blood of me,



III

You had woke sleep up with the moistened breath of,
Rainwater, garland, roselet, petunia,
I think that you had called my name,
Because you had seen me absent there,
That I was not of myself,
That I was nothing,
It seems that you were my rescue,
And that, if I was drowning,
And ocean breath filled my innards,
You would obtain me,
And your hands would sprout sunflowers,
And I would take them,
And I would be thrown onto the beach,
And how I would kiss you after the rescue of me,
And how I would,
And how I would always remember,
That you were the hope that was calling me from the crags of rocks,
And from the rays of sun,
That was ever so eagerly,
Trying to find its way amongst me.

9

Every night I write,
I pass the days with my pen,
hand in hand,
as it writes on blank paper,
as it fills the void of your absence,
Lover that is absent,
Lover that has filled me,
That has revitalized my soul,
my body, and my mind.
Every night I write, so that I may never forget

you,
so that I may always hold you,
whether with the marks of my pen,
or through the inner recesses of my mind,
Lover you will always have marked a spot in me,
That has traced and has been imprinted deep within

my soul,
Lover the fire you have sparked in me,
The warmth in me,
Every night I write,
So no matter where I am,
whether on the cold eve of winter,
or the sweltering sun of summer,
the quiet rain
the disquiet thunder storm,
Every night through the eons do I write,
to forever hold you,
to forever keep you,
and this way,
this way that I write,
is to keep peace with myself,
and to keep loving you,
Every night I write, so that I,
am never absent from you.

8

The stenciled silhouette of your body rests on
Canvas. I have yet to write on you, to trace the lines of your skin, the lines, the outlines, the contours.
I will trace you again,
I will touch the smoothness that is you,
Every still moment,
When there is a quiet solitude,
A solitude of becoming
Of growth,
Of love realized.
I will trace you and create you,
And you will be alive in the stillness,
Your voice reverberated from the depths of my
Body,
An echo alive,
I mark you with the scalpel that are my hands,
You mark me with the scalpels that are your feet,
Your hands, your voice, your awe.
Beauty, that is becoming
Love, that is becoming.
Growth, that is becoming.

7

The sweetness of the wetted leaves, the wind over, swept sun, morning moon. My clarity of vision, the palms encapsulate the outter contours and paint my body with rays of heat. You decorate me with your body of warmth, with your breasts of soil. I lay dead as a withered plant and my limbs become graced with the light of my soil. The light of my love that shines me and enfolds me in two pieces, where I stand before her, as one piece and she the other. The other half that has painted me and shone on me. The glowing halo that emancipates me. That is my love. That shines on me and waters me. I can feel her tears drip from the sky and hit my eyes. I can feel my longing of her absence to me. I can feel her water droplets sulking inside of my veins, the lifeblood that sustains my youth and permits me to continue and expand into countless millennia. The love of my soil. The love of my life. The woman of my night, the woman of my morning, and the woman of my day. Come to me and enlighten my insides with your warm and radiant glow. That is the Sun in the sky and the moon in the night.

6

The minute of intervals slowly moving,
Steadying itself on the quiet solitude of waiting,
How I watch those intervals,
With eyes discreet,
With eyes open,
My retinas glisten to the echo of the clock’s wail as it
Marks time, again and again.
How I steady myself to the clock, as if it were my life,
My life that had permitted me to find myself amongst yours,
My life that I wondered what I had been doing all this time,
Since you were absent.
Since you are present.
There are eight days since your leaving,
They will come in sets,
There will always be eight days when I am without you,
But the death of day and the birth of night,
Always makes time run together,
Since you were absent from me at one time,
Since you are present with me to all time,
Since you were absent,
I have steadied myself