haiku 3.14.12

like rarified air
you take me in bit by bit
your gasps matching clouds

from the archives: subtle emeralds

one can only ask
as they lock eyes with your own
if your have summer in your heart
or if you've ever made emeralds angry
because your stare
posesses more shine than they do.

11.11.08

postcard from a dream called us

these words now
are postcards from a dream called us
silent minutes envelop them
sealed with fresh and new sunlight
that shimmers with flecks of crystal
taken from your laughter
let the letters
written with care
and hands that cup distance
wishing it were your figure
stain your fingers as you read
and imagine
that this dream called us
will bring the rains
announcing the season that bears your name

haiku 3.8.12

if that train was late,
would your lips still slide open
for lust in transit?

reluctant flame

night
leaves you
looking for sleep
and for the air that feeds you
builds you up
from flickering flame
to opulent inferno
matches struck without warning
in caresses laid upon your cheek
on a chilled evening
when you
a season's namesake
allowed yourself to melt

night
does not answer you easily
it waits for you
watching as you sway in thought
waiting until you grow tired
to accept your weary heart
because it enjoys your company
and the persistent burn that comes with it
there aren't many skies
that would deny your heat
even if you believe
it is better to be cold now

music break: Gotye

heard this song a couple of days ago and it hasn't
turned my ears loose yet. you may find the same
happening to you. enjoy!

lion of the winter (for louis reyes rivera)

they say
a lion in winter
is a sign of sadness.

that there will soon be an end to mornings
when he can roar and stir dust
an end to his eyes scanning jungles
concrete and sublime
a time
where his teeth become brittle like memories
that may clear the way.

but what they don't tell you
is that a lion of the winter
is still and forever a king.

the roars inlaid with youth's own gold and fire
and all things that mean power
is his own earned and shining crown
so he can put that in his pocket
and rumble low when he speaks
because you see,
his message talks loudest in the thunder.

the lion of winter
broke jazz out of jail
made bullets realize their own tears
and resuscitated souls stuck in sidewalk scars
young cubs hinged on his words
until they could form their own
and roar
and that gave him joy, you see.

don't let them tell you
the lion in winter
is a heartbreaking sight
because the end is near
and that his scattered scriptures
won't live
because each roar
each rumble he made
is the born heart of another poet
the fervent blood of another writer
and if you truly listened
and loved him

that roar
still lives
in you.