sooner or later it’s over

hiding between the breaths
sigh into my heart darling
let it seep into my blood
tell me where I’ll end up
when you don’t want me anymore

hiding between carresses
grip a little tighter darling
let yourself dig into my bones
carve your intentions
before you decide to leave me on my own

the distress of a voice
saying a name for the last time
each intonation a grave…

and it never lasts does it?
if only
if only

with the birds I’ll share this lonely view

you want to be bigger than this mortal flesh;
loved and loved by another
comfortable heart to grow into
and seed immortality
in bloodlines

you want to be grand and say, “God has my face”;
praying in temples
hoping to reach a peace
continually unraveled
by their unwillingness

sit on a mountain and see with me
sit in the water and feel with me
God is not a person, not anything you can hold
sit with the birds and understand
to seek God is to try to make sense
the birth of the first wind

to live as one

fragmented pieces; ice pick, pic axe:
words split
and here you are yearning to fuse
but where’s the fire?
racing along timelines
dutiful pen checking off boxes
one by one

stay wilder than the wind
stray far from everything- ice pick, pic axe:
to your fragmented self
and fill in all the crevices
become one
and burn with all the lightning
set ablaze and
one by one
you become part of the god
that birthed you
into existence

and I think it’s going to be a long, long time

searing into and breaking apart
fleeing and running
saying all the prayers
reciting all the psalms
dear god of the hearth, where is home?

sitting and holding
waiting for the ticks and the tocks
musical time frames that suffocate
so I sear into and break apart
thrown into the abyss
but fleeing from all the demons
-just shadows snaking along my own
dear god of the heathens, where is home?

I threw your psalms in the fire
and held my heart in my fist
ate the entrails of my own monster
dear god of whatever is left of me,
where is home?

where will you wait for me?

the piano, piano of the sigh that melts under eyes that have seen the closing of the day alone too many times.

the skins of sweet fruits that have withered in the grounds of pathways never taken- only on a whim, you said.

and on the junctions, forked roads, winding pavements, that fall forward, tumbling lights that scatter hoping to be caught.

where can I… how can I…

to reach the infinite possible breaths that roll and wander between your fickle lashes and my own distance, my own defenses, my own pretenses

now I’ve waited too long, I’ve become lost so, where will you wait for me?