Quicker the clouds,
Bigger and white
My widened delight,
Then cooling shade
From greys in flight,
Spooling earth,
Reassuring and
Impossibly light.
Then just as soon again,
Your warmth on my back;
There is no lack
Of peace I find
In solitude and
I am truly
Grateful for that,
And for you,
My autumn,
Reaffirming in this
Resurfacing,
To know I may
Survive
One more night.
704.
Wide widdershins skies,
Dead warrior skies – red moon.
Wives wait patiently.
680.
Low winter-soon Sun.
There’s enough room in this world,
Yes, for everyone.
I caught a glimpse of the lady
I would love eternally,
Retained in the shape of a bather
In a photo reflecting the sea.
The sacred four-horned oxen
Walked on stones in my heart,
I prayed I may evaporate,
And fall into her arms.
As my quiet prayer was calling,
Deathly forests distracted me;
From clouds I started my descent,
Ended in your memory.
In one such forest’s fated clearing
A brook of crystal waters dried,
A spring to feed the falling prayers,
A place of rest for a bride.
The clouds merged in to mountains,
Mountains gave birth to the sea,
If only longer I’d waited,
And brought an end to all misery.
Sometimes the sky seems as wide
And big as my sadness.
Sometimes I wonder how it was Permissible for you to step out,
While I was stored within a moment.
Sometimes I wish I was something else,
Less than my cobbled wheezy-sided,
Indulgent, obsessive false-comparison self,
And that’s just the better half
Of my kernel. On the other side,
A spider’s on my eyelids;
A paperweight, a floating shelf.
If I was a god of kindness,
By degrees I doubt it would help,
I’d be a god of putting things off
Instead, and drinking tea,
A god of missing you,
The goddess of missing me.
How can I follow my love’s path,
When there is no path to see.
