what height, what height this light comes streaming through the window, the full-bodied pulse of the collapse of ego; the golden light of the winter day peeling through the atmosphere – the surface of my brain a foggy chapter of promises and gifts – the love i have to give like an army in my chest, ready to march — i, a small winter bottle of light and branches — sky, just let me see the sky — love, just let me feel my heart inside my body;; pumping blood, like so many fangs of the sky tilting forwards – reaching towards clouds, towards the flesh of the air made manifest in me — i, a little buzz of love;; i, a little question never knowing the answer;; i, a foolish warrior endlessly rowing ashore, towards the hope i am not forever blind
always the ever-flow of a cup of tiny lights bursting in the atmosphere, hazels and pinks and blues and something like music, is it all a concoction – a confection, a sensory hummingbird humming away at my heart ;; am i a curling page of some unfolding place i am supposed to always be or am i always the ever-flow of an overflow of a cup too small to hold it all in / too small to hold it all in — i runneth over, i, herculean bit of verbal eye language and saturn-ed arm twirl – i turn towards the sun and i let it collect me like light, reverberate me like sound, tilt me forwards towards the tilt of the earth — i try to tilt with it, align myself with the axis, but the thing keeps turning, and the thing keeps turning, and i am too small to hold it all in — and i am the ever-flow of a tiny cup of lights reflecting sound, not holding on to the ground, all atmosphere, all september rain, all cobble-stoned heart and fire-brimmed body – always formed but never finite; always the ever-flow
The pastoral past passes through me like a passage of pressed flowers beating like a heart ; like wire ; like strings frayed ; like the unafraid rings of a tree expounding outwards ; like a drop on a pool, on a lake, on a bed of watered flowers spilling over the edge like a nourishment / like a nuisance / like a novelty read for the first time
August hands, and love // i cannot speak of how vast the love, how deep the chasm spills into all the empty spaces; how full you become when you begin to breathe // How all the pockets between your bones and all the chinks in your armor fill with oxygen when you let the carbon dioxide go ;; how all the spaces fill like capsized balloons floating in reverse / how gravity will lift you when you let it no longer be a grave; How August cloudscape will wipe across the shallow frame of your seeing eyes / how unearthed light will fall backwards away from gravity towards the upended trunk of the atmosphere exposing the earth’s rings ; like rings ; like trees ; like water droplets ; like angel breath on clouds // like circles within circles // upside down the light comes spilling through the center of the Earth ; the magma of your heart like a beacon
let words come like a fortune of grass stains ; i am a cupped heart still trying to catch light, still trying to photosynthesize;; always failing in patience, always working towards the right words to fill the right moment with the right grace, but sometimes i am just a little human and my boots are filled with rain and my courage is hollowing through my brain and the only response i have is a messy tumble of emotions that come seeping out between my teeth, and sometimes i try to breathe;; but breath is shallow when you don’t have a belly-full of trust in yourself and lungs are tiny when you feel like you don’t have the time to let them expand // but the illusion of nightmare dreamwork is just frame-work, is just a faded etch around the edges — the door is new, the door is chestnut, you can open it, you have hands. scratches, dings and whistles line the edges like a parade of decadent molding; brain frosting (things still frozen in the ice) still comes on top of every jerked-fear-rattle-response — but your trauma is not your structure, your house is more than wood, your parts are more than math;; you do not need to keep apologizing. you do not need to keep apologizing. you do not need to keep apologizing.
curtain-high-tailed riptide away from here;; rip / sigh / away from me // fill up all the edges with all the love you have ever been given and give it back
August 1st and it’s always your day ;; you’re always in the sparkle green leaves and shooting streaks of twilight at the end of the day / you’re in everyday baby girl ; just beyond the root of the Queen Anne’s lace ; you are everlong; a dream ; an 18 year old beauty queen forever ; into eternity and back again ;; you are love, and love never dies ;; you are light, and light never shies away from the shadows // your memory is high art; our ability to still be alive – a blessing ;; you always remind me to stay alive on this day, to be grateful for my breath, for my still beating heart, for the road still unwinding // we are always grateful to you for waking us up, we are always missing you, we are always trying to shadow and reflect just a drop of the endless chasm of love you were able to spill into the world / we are always trying to be love, the way that you perpetually are
Deep bellied, full laughs; I’ll try to do them for you today and every day of my little life
When I think of you I smile; I feel no fear; I feel no desire to drag my feet through life; I feel the urge to dive into the deep end with reckless abandon;; thank you for that
But have you seen 6 o’clock may light / do you know what my heart feels like when it thumps against the wind / Am I anything other than the Spring ; does anyone know anything real other than this jubilation ; than the delirium of Sun warmth and soil smell and what the world really is ; of what life really is :: and all the shadows surrendering from all the other surreptitious seasons ; all the false days fading in the may light / All the mayflies casting ringlets in the river / nothing else mattering but this, but matter moving and dancing :: dancing, you imbecile, the point of life to dance ; loving, you idiot, the point of life to love ; To live, goddammit, all the geese yelling at me to live // And the blossoms – each one more ingenious than the next // and sight: a fever to behold
First and foremost, there is the multitude of light, the branches of sky ceiling that stretch around like crashing bones; secondly, there is the rhythym of words that tuck behind your ear; thirdly there is courage, the firmament of flurried breaths which carry you from one day to the next ; fourthly there is the beckoning forth of the seeds to the light, to the might of leaves to the air, to the resonance of grass to the grace of green returning ; the grace of green returning
Ninthly there is twilight, like a milky sea of froth wishes tumbled out of cosmic memory
I see spring arranged about me like a pearl of courage cracking itself open ; i see a thousand beams of hungry light being themselves wishlesslessly
Yeah me? I’m still convinced I don’t deserve love
i, rabbit horn, sea monster, rattle death – i call sadness into my ribcage to light fire to my heart. i mourn the afternoons bathed in autumn light through the rose curtains. i mourn the ring of singing voices in hollowed tree stumps. i fear the bones of winter crackling towards the sky without relent. i fear the branches; the harness of the sky to the earth. i fear myself. i search myself. i become more of myself. i grow in to being a teacher – giving strength, welling patience, harnessing words. i hark to the light. to the purpose that petals my feet forward. i hollow towards the light. i hear my own whispers; i repeat action and action and action and i rest not wearily enough. i hunger, i rattle, i raise. i reach towards the light – i keep reaching.
all i really care about is if i can see the glint of 3pm sunshine meandering through the pine needle canopy and how the golden light is pressing itself through chlorophyll on the side porch. all i want at night is to sleep on the screened in porch so that the swarm of insect chorus can lull me to sleep and rouse me with the new light. the friendship of singing swells. all the world really wants me to do is watch it. notice it. be with it. listen to it. and honor it. like a friend. like myself – in a thousand trillion pieces around me. the branch my sister, my friend, myself. and on to itself – the light – the thousand trillion pieces of light dancing rhythmfeet. bodies – like bodies of light // light – like bodies of death and undeath. like dream marbles falling out of the mouth of the sky // like rain bodies finding flight // finding light and light-ness and gravity // like gravity, like autumn, like 7pm, like yearning // like yearning is all we’re supposed to do – the only truth we’re supposed to swallow like light // like darkness is a river i am always swimming, like lightness is not a dichotomy but a body – like my body is always both at the same time – the river, the swimming, the rain, the evaporation, and where the river is a constant in a flood of variables and equations equating signs for symbols — like bodies — like shapes — like translation of form into meaning — like my body translating itself from light to shadow // contrast and lux making imaginary imagery immortal in mortality // like words pressed against one another like bodies // like shapes – you, me and the swell of the sound of an insect chorus in september ;; fading, cacophonous, resonant, signifying everything
warm cotton heart, tucked inside my chest – i feed it well, keep it fearless and folded/a turn style/a watering can. the light – a presence; a singing bell of summer starting to chime. the way the dashes and hyphens of the branches keep tapping morse code to me. calling me out, calling me out, get out of your skin. carry your fear to the center of the forest and leave it there. bury it well, in desert ash and worm soil. let it go, let it go. the weight of worry that hums with you on a tuesday afternoon. let it go, let it always go drifting into this bask of light. this swelter of sunlight leaves. this canopy of harmony and hallowed wind. sacred is the day/sacred too – my heart. our little hearts that light the way like fireflies come out to dance in the darkness. our little hearts that light the way.
follow them. let them go. let them be. let them sing. let them swarm into the light. moths we are, little winged ephemerals. little things we are, just bursts of light. little hearts aflame in the dark. lighting the way are we, always lighting the way are we. always fighting the fear are we, always fighting the fear.
and winning, we are.
goldenfire hot rod light – pummel me, little photons. courage me out of my skin and let us glow, let us glow around this theatre – hunger voices parading about the stage, let my ribs catch the hollow echo of my own voice. let us wade deep into the light – let us wash clean the ghost voices that sit in the bricks. let us make our bones into magicians – little word wizards for an hour or two. hungry my heart, hungry my words/fire my cavern of a chest that cripples itself with ribs and cages – burned ash and tenderness. i keep loving the world, i keep loving the walls of a theatre, i keep loving the spin of a spiral staircase in a satin dress, i keep loving the swell of the sea that hunts me across a stage. the world is touching between my heart and the air i still have yet to breathe. the world is watching, i am waiting. waiting to explode again. i love breath, i love light, i love catching fire in my skin and racing it around in circles until the audience claps. i love this fire and i’m not ready for it to go out. even the embers, i think, will still keep my skin aglow. so let it burn, let it burn.