I close my eyes and walk

into your hands that flow

over my skin and out onto the ground

of Music. You are light

and dark, and shadows

accompany your smile.

I love how nothing

is sacred.

We close our eyes and walk

into the earth, with two candles

and lit and sparking

courage.

I feed you apples.

You feed me laughter.

We are unknown to each other.

But there are simple doors we open

once in a while, peek in,

and see each other painting

bright, large canvases of ourselves,

pregnant and flowing.

Come my love,

let us wake up.

Move from the mud

where were have been gaping

at each other like gentle

crocodiles.

Let us arc from birth

to death and around

and around and over and under, in

each other’s arms, like

angel-devil-humans, a holy

Trinity of Awakening.

The sun and the earth

want our tumult

and our joy.

You are the goat-god,

romping, kind, brutally

honest, and full of

ecstatic flesh, on which

you feast, and in which

you bury your great head

in prayer.

I am the snaking queen,

writhing, kind, brutally

aware, and full of

ecstatic flesh, on which

I feast, and which

I bury within my great

singing mouth.

Come, my love.

we can accomplish this

myth together.

Join hearts with me

and let us dance

into the purifying fire.

Our purpose is not to be doers but witnesses. Let us witness.

I see the people, beautiful and sad.

I see the people.

A red struggle to the top, I see myself in this.

This is why I see it. I am my own limit. I am my limitlessness.

This question must be lived

and bravely lived.

*~*

The summit points toward heaven.

“Our collective vision ends up there.”

Peak or plateau –I want to know which

and why. I am about my own justified

story.

*~*

And Self used to be this. Used to be

this inward. But now notice

it has turned, and opened outward

into wings, into possible light,

possible dark – “Which one?” is the next question.

But at least flight happens

after all.

*~*

So if it feels like a cocoon, let all go.

out. out. out .

out.

*~*

Have you wondered how to be with yourself

in a way that feels most authentic?

How beautiful that we were given the compass,

and, after all the searching,

found that it is inside, not out.

*~*

This is what flight is. The willingness to open

and shut completely and completely open.

*~*

Look around, how so many shoulders shake.

We are practicing.

*~*

It is not crying.

We are practicing

flying.

May I be like the door

opening into my little girl’s room –

slender, lit from a burning

somewhere out

beyond its limit.

First Glimmer

First glimmer,

a song in the dust,

a portal, a beckoning, a lover

in time for the first of the final dances.

And we are the calling

back and forth through the web.

And we are the Great Dance.

And buildings pass

into and out of us

wrapped in fine threads of old

stories, threadbare beautiful myths

holding up the structure of our dreams.

And from within this gleaming we emerge

shining, tall and growing,

picking apples

and walking among the trees.