Lying, thinking Last night How to find my soul a home Where water is not thirsty And bread loaf is not stone

We were entwined in red rings Of blood and loneliness before The first snows fell Before muddy rivers seeded clouds Above a virgin forest, and

The sun has come. The mist has gone. We see in the distance... our long way home. I was always yours to have.

I keep on dying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,

A last love, proper in conclusion, should snip the wings forbidding further flight. But I, now,

Beloved, In what other lives or lands Have I known your lips Your Hands Your Laughter brave

When I was young, I used to Watch behind the curtains As men walked up and down the stre… Young men sharp as mustard. See them. Men are always

There is no warning rattle at the… nor heavy feet to stomp the foyer… Safe in the dark prison, I know t… light slides over the fingered work of a toothless

When you come to me, unbidden, Beckoning me To long-ago rooms, Where memories lie. Offering me, as to a child, an att…

Funky blues Keen toed shoes High water pants Saddy night dance Red soda water

We, this people, on a small and lo… Traveling through casual space Past aloof stars, across the way o… To a destination where all signs t… It is possible and imperative that…

Soft grey ghosts crawl up my sleev… to peer into my eyes while I within deny their threats and answer them with lies. Mushlike memories perform

I’ve got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry

Give me your hand Make room for me to lead and follow you beyond this rage of poetry.