Kisses

and then you brought me


a basket of warm kisses


through long years of snow

I Miss You

(January 3, 2011)

It is the month of ravens, the season

of liquid light.  It has been a long year

for golden tigers, and I cannot bear

to be without you for another day.

My tracks freeze in their place, there is no more

getting away.  Even my shadow is

brittle.  In the great spruce behind our house,

three ravens squeak rusty nails out of iced

bark with their cawing, change positions as

they ladder up branch by branch, but the one,

I think female, is first to find the top.

Yesterday, after the snow came, the sun,

behind a wispy smudge of cloud, shimmered

dreamy and moonlike, and a lone eagle

wove its way across the steel wool sky like

the shuttle of a loom.  It is the month

of coal, of burning cold.  The charred raven

brings its gift of fire to all those who

freeze.  The crystal sunlight turns into ash.

I am left to ask, “What brings you to me

in the night?  Will the knit of need and knot

of time hold only when arms and legs are

woven tight?”  My fabric frays without you.

Here in the slant burn of the winter sun,

in the black and gray grit of frozen thaw,

I climb the stark tree of mind, limb by limb,

into the murky sky.  Each day away

from you, I ache in the hollow of my bones.

___________________________________

See the vidoe version:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0odVZQSWwgM

I Came Here

in a ninth century
sports car formerly
owned by Ivar the Boneless.


It runs on ice water
and has a Viking horn
hood ornament.


I drove through words,
my tires hissing words
over hills of words.


The ribbon of asphalt
snapped me to you
like a whip.


I flew over mountains in a toy
airplane losing my hair
on the bald peaks,


it's rubber band engine
whirring like cicadas after
a twelve year nap,


revved up and hungry,
a spinning dervish
dizzy for your love.


I climbed without fear
the hollow blue of loneliness
into inner space.


My mind sucked
into a vacuum, my eyes
smoldering like falling stars.


I put my breath
behind me
to move on.


I rode the Titanic through
iceberg after iceberg
each the size of a hundred


Manhattans to find you.
I stayed mostly underwater,
held my breath for centuries,


floated face down
cold as a splintered reed
in the icy heart


of a saxophone.
Now I open like fog
in the sunlight,


with your hand
warm on my shoulder
I turn to meet your lips.


Each day all is new.
The ancient sax
howls outside my sun


splashed window
thick and golden as honey,
brings me to hear again.

A Recipe for Love

Open everything that is not and pour it in.
Heat gently.  When the fat sizzles,
cover and let simmer until tender.
Mix in all you are.  Knead it.
Let rise with the warmth of your touch.
Whisk until stiff.  Churn as long as it takes.
Layer joy upon joy.  Season to taste.
Make fresh from scratch.  There is always more to add.
Sweeten with syrup, coconut and wine.
Let the pot overflow.  Go ahead and make a mess.
Serve with heavy cream, dried cherries and cracked nuts.
When the aroma swells in your head, filling it
with dreams, and the spice laden steam stings
your eyes, it is time to feast.  Devour slowly
and savor every bite.  Leave no scraps for the pampered
animal that begs outside your door.  Leftovers never satisfy.
The recipe is always changing.  It never tastes the same.

anniversary haiku

we dive together


like bees into wild roses


hearts surging nectar

Burn

Like flame on black wind


I dance madly for your love.


Each night I burn for


Your touch as smooth as moon smoke,


The smoldered blush of your kiss.


 

This Moon

scrapes the thawing earth,
gnaws on lurking snow.
Skin melts to skin as I draw you in.

How do we stumble
across what makes us alone
into this radiant knitting of bone?

Your heart drives my blood.
My arms swathe your moans,
breathe with your lungs.

Too many years without you,
frosted with pain for so long, gone
like moon shadow in a blaze of dawn.