Moon Words


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Moon Words

My heart is dilated
The pupils of my soul
Are freshly open, because of you
It’s a kind of madness

I assure you, to be influenced
I fell into you this morning
I clearly didn’t intend to
Be pierced to the roots

**

Bathing in every vein of your inner voice
All day you appear to me
A prize of one’s sanctuary gone
By literary temptation

The journals you left, I read them all
We are two songs so far apart
But I know the words, I created them
A pure happiness to know

**

The jewel of so many years
A sweet flower that was lost forever
Across the continent, I am
A mere bystander and yet

Sometimes, there’s a moon-race
Of how we both dream
On the same frequency
And a split-second after

**

In a different language
Through cultural exchanges
We both murmur the same sentence
Beneath our window into the night.

Flutes of Light


39

we’ve retold the stories
of our lives like prehistory
so many times we forgot the white morning

or the gulls that drove us
to listen to traces of infinity
we become our own museums
sort of broken accounts of what

happened to us, a thousand photos later
we still can’t tell you the truth
about ourselves, that’s second-guessing

or the lack of objectivity with self
the sun leans low on the trees
of our youth, it passes faster
than you can name your old favorite songs

driving home, the moon draws close
we left our city lights, hoping
to become somebody we could respect

i love’ed you all day, all days
and felt the intimate street lights
bathe me against all my worries
which seem in retrospect, a bit petty

heat won’t leave the pavement
until night is almost over
and we’ll do it over all again

for the last freeway of summer
for leaving all the lights on
just to see you from the corner of my eyes.

38

The Duty of the Poet


16

I will take thee, as a Poet
To candidature for ethereal thrill
Subtle as the inner champers
Portions of visions, phrasing that

Dwell as full as an image – the red Rose
I will transport thee, as a Poet
To Cathedrals of fraught mortality
Joys of darling spontaneity

To risk all for the Scarlet Shelf
And usher in liberty for arcs of white
I will love thee, as a Poet
Until the house is full, that of the dream –

As conquering as love’s palaces
As secure, as divine intercourse
I will lead thee, as a Poet
As a carpenter on hands & knees

With opened palms, known to nobody –
As a stranger speaking of the elder tongues
I will speak of summer fields
And unheralded flowers dropped from memory

As a juggler turned wordsmith
As a prayer turned literary
I will take thee in, as a Poet
As the original artist of creative Vermilion

The pressed dust of symbolic projection
Of minds painted with brief beauty
That warrants pricelessness, with every line
These bards never awake from midnight’s trance.