THE HAND OF SILENCE

Silence has no plan, it is attentively
Not rigorously executed
It is the presence between history
And the future, the listening
Without any formal absence
Only, the part of not giving in
To the impulse of the moment
Silence can bridge offensive acts
Time the breaker of bad-will
Silence is neutral, transparent, unrelenting
In her execution of healing
Her willingness to give up
The inadequacy of words, analysis, division
We all begin and end in silence.

CARTOGRAPHIES OF LANGUAGE

A sentence begins with a lie
The common language already
Filled with duality, an imperfect means
Of understanding, semi-true literacy
Of our unity, the loneliness of
The liar endures, like false-love

A poem can be torn up
Never read again, but
The innovocation has already been set
Words of anger, cannot be taken back
Words, infiltrate our blood
With cortisol and neurochemicals

A sentence begins with a pause
For the heart’s twisting dials
There is no technology of silence
Only rituals of communication
Etiquette of what was not said –
The blurring terms of our inadequacy

At connecting, our inability to hear
Words in the music of our faces
The blueprint lost of our authentic sameness.

A THOUSAND PREGNANT SUNS

i

Here is a map of our country
Our souls glazed in books, language, ideas
This is the birthplace of our truth
In the aristocracy of craft

ii

In the feudalism of art
We are like painters on caves
Loving our canvas, more than our body
Here is the map of our journey

iii

I drive inland over poetic roads
Every person is a character of my muse
For life and death, is finally the same
We dare not taste its water

iv

The battlefield is a myth, there is no
Right or wrong, only neutrality, nature
Creation, we became poets
To find our way back to the light

v

We wrote of the promise
Of a thousand pregnant suns.