She knew most things that she needed, was taught early with books, shelves of encyclopedia and thesaurus, great dictionaries of words. Curious about the world she learned from the past what was and what would be. She was not allowed to forget anything but the feel of his hand and the sound of his voice when she daydreamed into beautiful gardens and wide seas of wanderlust that she found in dark alcoves and halls filled with bottled rage 0f other desperate perinea climbing the tower to escape in weed where flowers of peace burst beneath a brilliant sun. At night she made love in the jungle or on a moon polished beach where contentment hid behind sea walls strung with tea lights, holding back the tide of ancient choreography. To get there she stumbled over memories, looked away from begging hands, most brutal of all, buried the bones of a small child.
I don’t look down.
Above I can hear wide walls of
water dropping into pools,
spilling over countless edges.
I grasp at stones,
lift my feet onto slippery steps,
they slide on mossy sludge,
sink in deep pockets of mud.
My clasp of fingers grip spindly
veins reaching for me,
pulleys that resist when I let go.
I scream at the fury of water
that thrashes the rocks,
beating them to death for
derailing its downward path and
there is no way to console them.
The retribution is why I come here,
a hell of pounding retaliation,
blasts of spray cross my back,
sting of needles upon my neck.
My misty image in sheets of glass
crashing around me.
If I am quiet
I can hear the buzz
of hummingbird wings,
acoustic waves hovering
over lush gardens,
facets of stained glass,
green, purple, silver hues.
Compound eyes and straw like
beaks smeared with flaxen
too fine for the eye to see.
They live in the moment
in an enchanted world,
flower to flower,
a flurry of flight.
I arranged my world
Trailing beside you like
a kite tied to your wrist
or racing ahead your footsteps
never too far because you
you were part of me.
Remember when you were a tow
head boy chasing a long legged doe
through blowing fields,
running so fast the wind could not catch us.
In our sun ripened orchard you
whispered adventures we longed for.
Suddenly serious when your eyes met mine
stroke lightning passed right through us.
Steve Hanks artwork
Fear is a mad dog,
he’s made his home
in our house.
Surrounded by his pack
they spill their rabid foam.
Our hope, a mound of absence,
flinching eyes of fear,
their silence complicity.
There is no reasoning
with mad dogs,
the only option is to
take to the street.
Up high he shimmers like rhythmic
dewdrops on broad faced leaves of an
Baring her secrets, a mythical bird spills liquid stars
upon her gossamer gown.
Garlands of tiny feathers bind her wingspan of hair
and her sigh is carried like a song on the wind.
Below hungry birds peck at tamarind pods
tear at fragments of flowers more beautiful
art by Victor Koulbak
In dreams I take the form
of a frightened tigress,
the breath of a hunted animal.
When I rest beside you
I become invisible.
In your territory I am an intrusion
and you chase me far into the dream,
place your foot upon my throat.
I give you my drop of blood
for a spark of empathy
from the moon of your eye.
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