February
Late December, January
December
Often, lately, some midnight Bitch
I can talk to you if you want, I am in the tunnel too, we both standing in the tunnel looking at the light. At a party are all my friends. The party is outside, the outside is under a sky with no light. The sun and moon love each other and are sharing the sky to prove it. At this party is a dream. In the dream are all my friends. I am so happy to be with all my friends, I get to see each crease in their face move in slow motion. In this dream all of my love is there, but this is a quest for each of my friends alone. We each are having our own dream and we cannot speak easily to each other. It is hard to not understand the love we all share for the sky.
In the tunnel all the shapes are echoing lit glass (all talking to each other) that you carried and held for hours up to the sun, standing all the while. On the stool, next to the fire, below the black pot, is a knot, or a piece of lava, or an old elixir that would save you and save us from our eventual departing
Dear this is where i’ll write your letter today. I have been remembering my past future lives lately, oh my they are real. Something happened and I changed, no lumps on or in my body, more so just new spots. Realizing what is at the core of my inabilities to move in a forward direction, it is that my heart became broke and I tried to replace it with different affection and redirection. It cannot work that way easily but I am trying hard to push myself to let it come over me as a new spirit. I used to clean an elderly woman’s home down the street from me and I would go and visit her and spend the morning with her, talking as I cleaned. She said words deliberately and softly and named my bicycle ‘Bluebell.’ Six years ago her husband died and she moved to an assisted living facility. I wasn’t around when she moved and I found out about her leaving after she had already left. I was in the grocery store yesterday and I looked up and saw her standing across from me. I thought she had probably died, or at least that I would never see her again. I saw her and smiled and immediately started sobbing in the grocery store. We met each other and I said her name and she said mine, and we hugged each other three times and in two years I have never been as happy as I was in that moment. I have been having dreams with you in them again and I know that I will see you soon, and can see you in the sky right now.
Vibrant in sheets, I think we know how- I love you
I took a boulder from the hill to take in my folding hands, the boulder engulfed in a bluing flame, I kissed it on the mouth. We saw the sun rise every morning, so we spoke the light in good confidence. When people asked why, why I held a boulder between both hands, I said that the boulder understood how the light was born.
Not from there or here or body or vapor, they talk to me of longing, and scent. your suit is made of soft silks, some pixilated gardens, our fruit is growing slow, the color desire is eyes closed nodding, and color of old age: mother talking to your mother, they not here, we are only each other’s mothers. your suit still made of silk, a fashioned alter, list including: deep woman voices, no English necessary, table salt formed windows, search distraction, your dove,
-when prayer exchanged only hand to hand, finger to figure -experience of joy, a soft blonded woman drifting through air -two road runners engage in troubled love -condor adrift in her telephone wire nest -orange shaped body held in the sand, I watched your dying quietly -minute shaped viewing for the sun -sky fires -egg shaped melon, chore baking -all friend and fire caught outside while watching her moon on the screen
corpse clips definitive pile of bones I saw you in the sky again exchanging with my love again, you spoke in slow syllables, hot water pouring into tension arms, cantilevered throat, song voices I saw your love bruise ground and the cows were a good choir, telling us of how their friend became silt & life was not a lot more than getting haunted by the sky
eclipse women
All light generic as I thought of all my light being very special, very beautiful Her voice yelling All new notes crane slowly into the panes of the bluing windows I love and loved all the men I’ve been with, this is an open call & reminder that all love is crashing, breaking and newly beautiful and generic