I am the lost one,
the one lost.
Shadows fall like guillotines;
it is the same time everywhere;
I've always been this age.

And I've been slipping
through your fingers
for years,
oozing molecule
by molecule
to the floor,
where I will collect again,
reshape and rise,
walk with dignity away,
remembering the grain of your fingertips
on my various parts
as I slid over and through them.

And I will think of you often:
how for a time
we did
what could not be done.

between nothing and everything

In my yoga class yesterday, my yoga teacher had some words of wisdom I found remarkably profound, applicable not only to the contortion in which I crouched while I heard them, but also to big bad crazy LIFE! He said that the goal is not to reach perfection, which does not exist. Rather it is to find a place of peace, acceptance, and challenge somewhere between nothing and everything. He said it is only in peace that we grow. That we need to separate the "ego self" from the "authentic self," which is the teacher that resides in us all.

Then he had us stand on our heads.

And today I ache all over. In the best possible way.

apoc now

The sky is the color of
apocalypse today:
all gray
and swept aside,
making room for something else.

I saw a friend yesterday:
A beautiful woman with a convenient boyfriend
who loves her in detail
and draws small circles
around all her parts and quirks
and keeps them in his pocket.
He takes polaroids of her
and saves them to polish
in the morning.
He holds her like he wants to be inside her,
and she pets him like a persistent dog.

And it's got me wondering about this whole love thing,
what it really is
to know that you love someone
even if they can't love you back,
and to give and give that,
and feel ok about taking it,
and what to do,
what to do.

Because so far
I exist on this impervious level,
and you'd have to work hard to slay me.
Not that I don't love,
I love so thoroughly
it's just spread out enough to keep me afloat.
There's always some joy around the corner.
So far anyway. So far.

Wet War

You dampen me
and all I see are tactics:
some wet war;
two weary soldiers
in love.

Watching you slice an apple at midnight

First of all the knife
you were using was too big,

then you cross-hatched
and lost me,
the heart shapes dissecting
and falling open,
vivid fruit on white
under florescent light.

You declared them over-ripe,
offered me oranges,
and we leaned against the counter together,
sucking orange slices,
making piles of pulp.