My Fabric was made by deep organ-notes 

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I have been quiet a long while
Through my soul wet with spirit
Though my heart whole with love
Though my passion righteous

With strange infinitude
I have not any body of royalty’s sign
I’ve grown old, weak, alone
Haloed with my mystic literature

I uncoil beauty’s parting
And the sun’s goodbye to youth
And there is no wine-flush left
No opalescent hope for prosperity

I am all that I will ever be
From becoming to indignity
My compassion has been ministered
Upon this Earth in little bursts

And that’s enough for whichever
Strange singer’s mind gave birth to me
I am the cosmos suddenly poor
Suddenly curious for a weary lifetime.




Since we aren’t young forever
We have weeks, instead of years
Our souls beat not for great emotions
But for time secured connection


Spring will wash our green-blue thirst
For years of missing each other
When we didn’t know the other existed

We are lugging our groceries home
Filed with bundles of hand-holding months
Drinking delicious coffee, with unopened mail
By our sides, we lift the new light

To our old wounds, with gratitude
Of an unexcavated divinity
We let it peel us with light from the inside


My small hands on your power-tooled body
Aware of our fragility, of how our moods
Hang on the soundless curl
Of the magnitude of our body-language

The little smiles that measure quality
And laughter that holds all the notes together.

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