Go to the limits of your longing…
Flare up like flame and make big shadows that I can move in.
Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going.
No feeling is final.
— Rainer Maria Rilke —
talisman…
i write these words
quickly repeat them
softly to myself
this talisman for you
fold this prayer
around your neck fortify
your back with these
whispers
may you walk ever
loved and in love
know the sun
for warmth the moon
for direction
may these words always
remind you your breath
is sacred words
bring out the god
in you
— Suheir Hammad —
roc…
We are come late to the love of birds
for we are come late to love.
Before we had been nothing:
a fossilized egg, a tired metaphor, old as mutton.
Now, the sharp twinge of middle age
and we are caught in love’s punctured balloon.
In banana peel sobriety.
Furred epithet, feathered lash.
We are come late to the mythology of love,
the beefheart stain of the great winged roc
upon the ground of our imaginings,
soft like the centres of some candies.
Soft like the quilted centres of our beds,
our quivering bird organs.
Give us the sweeping shadow,
down from the mountains of Araby.
Give us the claws that catch
us from the desert path, swoop us,
fat white sheep in the meadow,
into that prickled nest, high, up high.
— Sandra Kasturi —
perhaps you’re still sleeping…
Slowly the morning climbs towards the day.
As for the poem, not this poem but any
poem, do you feel its sting? Do you
feel its hope, its entrance to a community? Do
you feel its hand in your hand?— Mary Oliver —
yes, we can talk…
Having loved enough and lost enough,
I am no longer searching,
just opening.
No longer trying to make sense of pain,
but trying to be a soft and sturdy home
in which real things can land.
These are the irritations that rub into a pearl
So we can talk awhile
but then we must listen,
the way rocks listen to the sea
And we can churn at all that goes wrong
but then we must lay all distractions down,
and water every living seed.
And yes, on nights like tonight
I too feel alone. But seldom do I
face it squarely enough
to see that it is a door
into the endless breath
that has no breather
into the surf that human shells
call god.
– Mark Nepo –
things that go together…
gone are the birds that were our summer guests…
The crickets are raucous; wild for a reason, I guess.
The wind feels like… courage.
(Like that, only simpler.)
The fire pit smoulders; my hair smells of ash.
Tonite.
A season comes to pass framed by silky memories
and eventual, hopeful strains for some near-distant night.
You. Me. This.
We spread ourselves wide to the horizon that cradles our future –
the velvet expanse of our yet-to-be-known.
Awash in the restlessness of almost-goneness
I wish I had more time
grateful I can leave some of all that was behind.
A fruition of time that on this eve
blossoms and wilts.
Leaving is bittersweet.
It always is.
L
– Lola Moi –
the auberge at bay…
You walk ahead of me in the hallway
look over your shoulder and
reach for me
with your left hand.
I have to skip to catch up
to your long legs.
Your reach is unexpected
and the way your eyes find me
in the moment before
I take your hand
my heart skips a beat
too.
For some reason
these tiny moments
the way you ask for me
and the way
you hold me as we walk
(if I may be so bold)
delight
and soothe me
reassure me
even satiate me
in the way that one
discovers themselves content
with exactly the right dessert.
All this in spite of
the pull
and ease
of my acceptance
all this despite
one simple truth:
I don’t want you to leave
your absence is
it is
the very last thing
I want.
You enter the elevator
gorgeous broad back to me
I whisper
your name
I tuck you into my secrets
as I wish
and want you
to reach for me again
and take me
guide me
on our way to bed
naked
safe
ready.
As the doors of the elevator pause
I reach for you
inside myself
I want to drink deeply
and allow the hunger
to be seen
I want your nose against
my skin
but not like that time before.
This time will be different.
Because with me
you can be most like yourself
it is my gift to you
no hiding
apologies unnecessary
even forbidden
as you remember
the heat you are
you will forget
how or why you ever said “no.”
You will hear your power
harmonize and crescendo
with mine
my moans
and cries.
You will delight like I do in
our sweet – nest
you will believe
you will reach
and embrace the beauty
that you are
that I already see in you.
For the briefest of moments
you will understand why
I can’t resist you.
And we will kiss.
Even as your back turns
even as the doors
seal away your smile
for who knows how long
(time and space have now
turned against me)
I stand there
breathless
already missing you.
And all you did
was reach for me
in the way you do
but it seems
that was enough
to find me.
– Lola Moi –
the moment…
The moment when, after many years of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room, house, half-acre, square mile, island, country, knowing at last how you got there, and say, I own this,
is the same moment when the trees unloose
their soft arms from around you,
the birds take back their language,
the cliffs fissure and collapse,
the air moves back from you like a wave
and you can’t breathe.
No, they whisper. You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round.
– Margaret Atwood –
wild berries…
when I watch you move
it’s as if
my eyes are old hands
uncovering and furtively picking
wild berries
before they fallit’s as if
I am parched
and you are water
and my eyes drink
till I am quenched
by your smooth taut skinit’s as if
you are a gift I open
my eyes long fingers
slowing untying a thin ribbon
that slips
beneath crisp paper,
smoothed out
by one long slow glance
— Marilyn Dumont —