The Stillness We Know (with Spoken Word)

If I collect all the stars tonight
Mix them in a bucket like paint,
From their glow will a new color
Emerge as yet unknown?

In time I can name it, after
I toss them back scattered
For the gazers to see
In the relit night.

Newness reflects a myth
Like truth on still water
Whose gentle murmur speaks
A code no cypher requires.

Just a short walk in sand
Under the mixed up sky
That decorates our world
And see what I hear.

A bystander eavesdrops and asks
“How will I see what you hear?”
The brush dipped in the bucket
Whistles in the glimmering remains.

We sit down on the sand together
While the water dances to the song
That trickles out of the truth
Naming the stillness we know.

Peaking Through Chrysalis (with Spoken Word)

The butterfly lives
The right
Of time.

(Don’t we all?)

Now we are two butterflies,
Peaking through chrysalis
At a world we once ate
Now we are to pollinate.
Our eyes see God in flowers.
Our flesh carries seeds.
We stick to one another.
We have become:

A world
I cannot imagine
Without you.

Two butterflies
Dancing on air
As was

With a nod to Tom Robbins’ Another Roadside Attraction

Swim Inside My Words

“I want to swim in your words,”
She says and
An ocean opens inside me.
I have to pause,
As one should,
Just before testing the surf
To look with awe at the horizon.

But I will get to those words,
The depths of which takes time to expose.
Let us linger here in the echo
Of waves powerful enough to move
The rocks that make up our earth.
How do these waters hold us with such force?

“I want to swim in your words,”
She says.
At the waters edge I dig a hole
To make a pool.
My bucket filled with sand
To reclaim land elsewhere
On the island.

Speaking of pools,
Walk with me
On broken granite slabs
To where the tide collects
Life we can name
From depths now exposed
To the sun:

Sea anemone
Sea cucumber
Swim inside my words
Past the horizon.

Photo: Me, San Diego, Ocean Beach

Swimming in Pathos

She lays her body down along the sand, interrupting the horizon
With her soft waves that break me to pieces, I want to ride them
To shore
From depths where I drown my body looking for relief
From desire
From want of stillness in the chaos of screams
From greed
From ambition where I drown the meaning of my words
From lusts who aimlessly dance about in the surf
Like Aphrodites threatening me with their births

This one, though, stood naked and formed, heralded by angels
Hovering about the clamshell she rode, herself a mainline
To shore
She invites me to collect my pieces, casting out her fishing net
Like a prophet.
One by one, I stab them with calculated thrusts of my spear
Putting each piece back together in webbing spun from the silk
Of her hair: my mind, my heart, my spirit, my body, my soul.
At first they flop about like temperamental children wanting attention
Until twilight when I lie naked before her asking to be healed.

Art: The Birth of Venus, Sandro Botticelli