there are too many broken

there are too many broken

moments. there is only so much

music one can bear. there is

only so much weight

one can carry. the answers

are both more complex

and simpler than we would like.

there will always be more steps

once the burden has been exhausted.

there are choices one makes.

perhaps they lead to freedom.

sometimes they make pain an ornament.

the way home is often poorly marked.

everything we see we see dimly.

you feel your way along the wall

and hope for a door.

a window does no one any good.

the truth is there is always a way in.

sometimes the way isn’t easy.

nothing worth fighting for ever is.

attention

i’ve always been the slowest walker.
in any group, it is always me who lags
behind, who arrives slightly out of breath.

it has always been thus. i suspect
it is because i have no expectations
for my arrival. i know what i will find.

therefore i always leave early.
i set the clocks five minutes ahead.
arriving on time means there is still time.

the days are already so full of hurry.
schedules tight like skin, so full,
the pressure of departure and arrival.

everything rushes: the blood in the body,
the body through space, electric synapses,
mid-day traffic, the earth in its orbit.

try to find the still point. take a moment
to breathe, and find the center,
a target for attention, fulcrum.

find a way to measure pace, marking
meter and rhyme, finding the cadence
of footfall and windfall and nightfall.

desire

i want to ask you

when you were first aware

of being desired. when

someone wanted to know

only your body,

and the pleasure

it might afford.

how did you respond

to the weight

of that gaze,

the furtive glances?

did you return that attention?

did you confront it

unblinkingly?

did you avert your eyes?

was there shame? whose?

i want to ask you

when you were first aware

of desiring another. when

you wanted to offer them

all of your body

and the pleasure

it might afford.

did they respond

to the heat

of your entreaties,

your intended surrender?

did they return your touch?

did they act with boldness,

and possess the land?

did they avoid the altar?

was there joy? whose?

i remember what it was like

to be desired, and how desire begets desire,

awakens the soul one way or another.

i know there is a desire fuelled by control,

and desire stirred by beauty. i wish

i could say i was always on the right side

of the question. i regret to say i was not.

lanterns

we are making bags for the dead.

we light the candles

and set the lanterns free on the current.

the line makes its way

out into the bay and turns

the corner into open ocean,

the water calm,

the sky calm, the heart steady.

this is a way to remember

the way home.

sitting on a boat

drinking wine with strangers,

taking in this moment

as the light fades.

back on dry land

there are different rhythms,

the waves of loss and

something close to joy,

the way a smile slowly emerges

even as sadness fills the body,

the way every light

reminds you of the ones you love

and the ones left behind.

flowers

gather every flower

everywhere you walk

fill your hands with flowers

bring them here and

gather them together

make them a mountain

make them an offering

make them a mountain of offerings