basement room

in the blue glow,
your face a round sweet poem that cannot be expressed
full and shifting, wings of a night bird folding over eyes
fluttering of the heart
and the heat and the velvet and damp
O, the rotation of the day and the night
O, the tides of the dark and the breaking of light

ten years away, and ten years close,
as close as a coin in a fist
grip firm or uncertain, now is now is now is
now

isn't that everything
isn't that everything

now is now, and you sigh and curl and sleep
and away from you, I dream and travel and take flight
above the trees and low houses I skim, my way
an arrow to your way, to be loosed upon the world, to
travel to the heart of the heart of the world
to plunge deep into the beating mess of it
with you

isn't that everything

final gig (this lame poem)

a spinning light
like a spinning star
boys in the band
girls at the bar

the smell of beer
the smell of piss
the nights with you
I haven't missed

the smell of stars
the smell of us
I miss you most
when I'm on the bus

the weight of dreams
the weight of you
the heaviness
of what is through

I cooked your meals
I made your bed
you washed my clothes
you kissed my head

I got sad
I moved away
so many things
I couldn't say...

and this lame poem
is just for you
and all the things
that we went through

some things were great
some things were rough
and this lame poem
is not enough

broken plate

Sweet sweetness
you call to me, then let me be.
All I am is yours, what's yours is me.
we circle and spin, let each other out, and in;
end it, begin it, upend it, chargrin it.
You know who you are, and what you can do.
The fragments, the lightness, they come shining through.