I hadn't seen her in weeks,
no trips to the woods on Mt Holly
where I would lay out my coat to lay her down
late at night standing with my thumb out.
My eyes slightly rolling back with the pleasant memory
of her scent still on my fingers.
And now I was united to Love through Jesus
the past was all sin
the love we shared mere lust, dirt, ashes to ashes.
I said I couldn't see her again,
she hugged me,
I did not even lift my arms.

I arrived in New York in the rain
I stood on the shore wondering why
in a pool of blood in a clearing in the woods
the engine idling still,
a pain killer for him alone.
you could almost see the limegreen potential of new leaves in the bare silver trees along the Hudson
I walked waiting for her
for the inconguency of her smiles and waves with the tears
I saw in her eyes

We met on Irving and I spoke to her in the dim light
"Potere io fare l'amore con lei?"
so she couldn't tell the color of my face
when she asked me to interprete and I said
"I want to make love with you."
I'm not sure why I said "with" instead of "to"
I'm thinking that I wanted her to be a part of it
and she said we would be lovers
while we washed each other,
but she would never love me.

the drawings from those Wednesday afternoons
when she was done teaching her classes and she would stand so confident
before the windows with their ocean views
and she bragged that she had no sea scent as we touched each other,
the lines blurred between see and seen
Her room mates lost for hours in the front room
and we'd slip out at night to dance
and freeze in the VW wishing the heater worked faster.

And so I'm weaving rose thorn with willow
into an open ocean raft
tied with bloodied white string
and I can not tell the difference anymore
and I wonder where you are now
and why I can't hear you?
and I could steal the saddest lines tonight
like
‘The night is fractured
and they shiver, blue, those stars, in the distance’
but instead
I'm just very quiet, still.

Bee's Wax and pigment, rose, willow branches, string 24X18"

My words are so few
my fingers, my hands, my body,
yes these things I animate
still floating
I don't know how long,
where it goes, what I say,
if I get there?
You
lost now
on a horizon I can't see
but I know
somehow
these warm seas
these spent roses
these weeping willows,
these colors,
these, these things
float with me,
leafless,
float me, tonight.

I am on my way
on the wind
It will not fail me
and I
will not fail you
even though everything falls away,
even
please
even me.

I think of these things drifting
over the edge
things that were me
kind of broken off
a rain comes in from the coast
wet leaves falling
that stream of silver water
down the dark morning window,
the heater kicks on,
kicks off because

no one should be here now
so the cold damp creeps across the floor
into bones.

On a corner
with a boys yellow rain jacket
black metal buckles, black rubber boots
waiting for the afternoon
sunlight mudpuddles
I took your bus, yes?

My eyes follow these things
over the edge
sometimes
I'm lost with them
imagining
that I could blow
life into the lips
of something I once loved
as if
I could walk over the edge
as if
I could take these things
to my body
once more,
that they could be mine again

Candle lake balmy night
blanketing
your salty taste skin
laughter

But what is on the far side
of the rock
when I only see this side
illuminated by now?

And I know you are alone tonight too
that you too follow things
over the edge
and perhaps we both think
someone
strong,
can bring back those
pieces,
that drifted
over the edge?

But maybe
all we are
is a path
where dark things light up briefly
as they pass over
and we fear the dark night
coming our way
and we miss them
when they pass and drift beyond us,
but how much do we love?
do we let go entirely
for this moment,
this breath we share?
or do we hide as if
we too
are beyond our breathing?

She was angry with me
with my drumming
god it hurt when he left
when she left
took her diaphram first
before the clothes
before the worldly possessions
before me
were divided,
a pink chair for her
that green chair in my studio
rough
and it wasn't about you
it was about the fear of someone feeling so good
being near
I want to tear apart my greatest art
but if it is hidden
in the corner of the woods
safe dreaming Night Goodnight Bye.

And my mind imagines
when I'm alone
way off down the cliff-side
where you said you would meet me
where the sea doesn't care
where I scream and sing
where sea birds hover
on the air
wondering about me
what this creature intends
with this ritual offering of intonated breath
this song for a kiss
for a someone behind the page
to jump off real flesh, alive.

I saw that once
pressed against the back of a couch
and she looked at me
with that quiet look,
I held her
and a storm rushed through
and I woke up in Montana
with my drum;
and she was angry with me.

There was a girl walking towards me
down the city sidewalk
she walked with purpose
and I watched shyly as she approached
from a distance
I thought it was you
who I have never met
and as she got closer
I turned towards the street
so our eyes wouldn't meet
I was hoping
she would approach
and say "Doug?"
And I would say your name
open my arms to embrace you
And I heard her footsteps behind me
like the redshift
when a comet passes by
I felt the warmth of the sun on my face
finished my coffee
turned to walk back to my studio
she got to the corner paused
and turned back
we passed each other
and I didn't look
in her eyes
because I couldn't stand it
if it wasn't you
and I can't stand it
if it was
and I missed you.

Watercolor on paper 22X14"

She wandered in
through the door I
left ajar
somehow I expected her
tonight
and it was late
my lights were on
the silk drapery
flung across the back of a chair
waiting for pause
and movement.
She was younger then me,
intrigued
is what she said,
by my work at night.
She smiled as she
undid her robe
and handed it to me
and her smile
the scent of colored roses
filled the room
and I understand now
the misty subterranean heat
of Haleakala
how it rose from the bubbling sea
Pele
and I wanted my sex purified by water
and I wanted her sex purified by fire
and the devastation and the creation
of element
is what the morning wind
through white shear curtain
painted tonight.

It's OK I got your last message
in the space the silence left
A ring flinged into the muddied river
it's all such a dream
row, row, row your boat
gently down the stream
merily...
And I know it's all slight of hand
and my own hands fool me
into feeling
I have touched
and what I have touched
is the ragged edge of disconnection
That I offer an empty gesture
nothing but winded.

How is it that I could love you?
and the hours pass into day, into week,
years that I don't have to give you now
Other then my words
which I gave to you
and that is all
I could ever give you.

Is this how I make you feel
when I go away,
when I slip off the edge of this tenuous image world?
a world where I can't touch you
fingers, tongue, blood.
but I sent you me
in the shape of letters
for you to weave our worlds.

I thought you dreamed me?


On the pink highways of New Mexico
your phone does not answer me
I can't see you in the dust storms here
On the dark hills of Vermont
I couldn't forget you
You told me you wouldn't meet me there
I waited til my shadow fell
I paid the rent
on the cabin,
two nights I paid
and it was empty
the bed unslept in
because you were never coming to me.
How many times will you dis-invite before I disintegrate,
disengage, disappear, dis-remember?

Why, for these minimal guarded words you give me now,
do I spill my gifts for you?

And why would I care now,
now that even my words are invisible to you?

ee cummings
 
because i love you)last night


clothed in sealace
appeared to me
your mind drifting
with chuckling rubbish
of pearl weed coral and stones;

lifted,and(before my
eyes sinking)inward,fled;softly
your face smile breasts gargled
by death:drowned only

again carefully through deepness to rise
these your wrists
thighs feet hands

poising
to again utterly disappear;
rushing gently swiftly creeping
through my dreams last
night,all of your
body with its spirit floated
(clothed only in

the tide's acute weaving murmur)


Emily Dickenson

Heart, We Will Forget Him

HEART, we will forget him!

You and I, to-night!

You may forget the warmth he gave,

I will forget the light.

When you have done, pray tell me,

That I my thoughts may dim;

Haste! lest while you're lagging,

I may remember him!

Sometimes I think
I'm standing on the outside of a glass window
my hands, face pressed in to see
and like a ghost she stands there
at first and maybe never seeing me out here
and now I'm seeing you pressed in.
you heard something calling
from the other side
and you've been lost so long
in the forests of Dandaka,
so long you have forgotten
the belonging and
you feel the phantom severed wings of Jatayu.
the magical deer to please you
allusively, transform, evaporate,
and yet
I'm pressed against the glass here.
I'm seeing now I've already been broken
the red wine glass in my hands shattered
and if you press in any closer to me Love.
Crashing dreams, wind through smoke
emptied the space between stars....
you will know the longing.

A million times we will break each others hearts
and a million and one take each other back
and think how good that feels
when I take you into this bed
of forgiveness
of understanding
because I want to know the things that divide you,
the things the drive you into those other worlds
away
broken
Like I am broken.

The stream flows through cracks in the canyon
I thought I would die here
walking up that mountain
(on my last day here
I will dream of your arms and die here alone
sky burial, my flesh the food for dark ravens)
and I reached the chaparral of wind blown grass
golden,
where I would have laid you down
if I were not alone here now.
The spires of rock silences
of the spaces in me
where ravens shriek
echos
through the deep parts of me
Through my dualities
through the must do because I love
through the must do because I desire
Through the million and one times I love and desire you.

I can hardly breath sometimes
in the middle of the night
those long conversations;
ones you'll never have
and yet someone must hear the words
your mouth never forms with all that breathlessness,
with the movement of tongue and lips.
No they are the ethereal sound
of the essence
not quite making it to the warm dark bed
sleepless dreams
waiting for the kiss of morning.