The Poem as a Place of Insight

I sleep but the poem’s words
hold their vigil,
a swarm of falcons
turning and turning in the sky within
so much that I feel a little dizzy
as I wake at morn,
their fresh taste wet on my lips,
like mist in the rising sun
quickly fading before
I could capture them,
leaving me with their flame
burning in my bones
and keeping me alive all day
with an ache for the unfathomable,
whispering strange things to my ear
that each day drive me a little closer
to the edge of madness
where I can finally begin to see
the world just as it is.


We Exchanged Poems for Rings

We exchanged poems for rings
With words not penned by our fingers
But burned into each other’s souls
By our breaths as we kissed.

We sealed our fate with poems
Hushed between our merged lips
And the fervent ink became the blood
Spilling on the unfolding sheets of our lives.

With poems we spoke our silent vows
As our pressed lips spoke eternity
In a volume so great our chests tore
And our ribs danced and joined in bliss.

I Harness You

With each curve of my pen
your desire falls wet and burning
upon the aching paper,
moaning and sighing poems,
serpentine limbs writhing and twirling,
uncontrollably exploding into stars
scattered in the empty heaven.

I harness you, love,
like the silent full moon
harnesses the stars
and writes them into the earth’s womb,
into the warm dreams of lovers.

I write you and harness you, my own.