An Effigy for the Altar of Roshi's Summer

Out of the dank air
In a foreign city
Alone, with you 
I carefully crafted a new form of me:
The mother I said I could one day be.

Hours spent in silence
Behind spotless windows that never saw light
I toiled daily over the details of my design,
But I could not unlock the secret to make her smile.

One day, when her birth became futile
I burned her as an effigy
And if I could, I'd bury the father
You'll also never be.

Three hundred parasangs

The deep churning [churning]
Turning [turning]
Of the shadow-black sun
From the bottom of the well
Wind moves leaves across
The circle view
Rains pouring down from above
Sprinkle his face
Beneath the cold, cold stone
A bones-knowing that a change
is coming.

Sketches for Neptune’s Dream (Yesod’s Mouth)

I am the spell
Walking into form 
The structures built
From behind a curtain

Among figures clad in black catsuits
Conducting the squeals of 

Freshly painted wood on castor wheels

Here, I stand

In the dark

Draped and crowned,

Ready for my cue.

Anima forma corporis

I know as only animals do
the scent of you.
Not the sweet smelling soaps, expensive cologne, nor the freshly laundered clothes—
No, I remember none of those. 
I know only as animals do
the scent of you.
Sour salt of night old 

Bed stale skin, hot and wet

Spiced with laughter
Bright and odiferous as the waning sun 

Through painted linen
Permeating the air

Played into a song 

By the orchestra of my olfactory senses;
Excited by a tune so rare and new 
So acutely did it learn each note;
Each wafting reign of its highs and lows,
To the mid-tones of unfettered trust 
And secrets told through the eyes alone—

I know as only animals do
the scent of you.
But how can it be true,
Separated by miles and years,
I did just now trace it passing through?

The Shake

Last night
Subtle in sound

As I slept
The tiny tremors of the Earth
Reverberated between my ears;
Whispering vibrations,
Frequencies rippled

In the liquid of my body.

In the morning,

I awoke 

And adjusted the frames on the walls.

Without warning,
I've changed my mind.

The Messenger (A Knight Carries; A King Weighs; A Queen Cradles)

In your childlike freedom, I possess you.
In our separateness is our embrace,

As a shadow to the sun.

Empty words fill the empty space.

A vision writhes in the primordial net

Of desire not yet made real—
At least, not to flesh.

I awoke from the dream with a wound I could feel;
One only ash and feathers could heal.

Still,

It is the heart’s intent.

Another mountain quest

Another Ark of the Covenant—treasure or vessel,

A locked vault. 

Wanted, sought.

Nested within 

An elegant chest.

reprosexuality

My lover has a secret door
behind the wet bar
to an underground library
with windows
ceiling to floor
into the shining black eyes of

enormous beasts

in a deep blue sea.

The creatures who visit me there
are eons old, all-knowing
and hungry
for company.

Pyrolysis

Six flames
sent
to one name
folded quiet 

and tight

enveloped inside

stationery

unlined—

blank but for
the charred tips of 

used matchsticks
which wrote charcoal scripts
to be known by
only their recipient.

Feedback signal

Among the pretty
delicate things
put up high on shelves
to shimmer in the dark

it is known
no beauty is spared
the camera obscura;

the careful observer,

though blessed with 

omnipotent sight
its fragile-glass eye overlooks

the time-smoothed ridges 

of cast brass bronze 
ornate raised relief,
golden filigree leaves,
the rippled lips, 
and fire-licked folds 

of an object

aware of itself

reflecting a quivering flame

in an ancient mold.

A Song for Sands

I heard a song
Clear as the pitch of a sword thrust into the air

A violent song
In the key of a triumphant will,
Hollow as bird bones
It rang in scales of surrender
Through a chamber of infinite potentials

Down marble breezeways and great halls of concrete,
Soft and quiet
As the shifting sand in an endless golden desert
Shaping itself
To collapse once more
Into a form of formlessness;
Its brief grasp

A moment of victory
Rewarded with disintegration 
And another chance to sing and dance 

With the decisive and changeable winds.

Zephyrus and Aura

I think to call your name.

“Be good,” you said.

So, I let the wind carry it instead;

The rustling chant of leaves
Is atonement, my sins appeased.

I listen then, carefully
For your response on the breeze.

Lark and Eagle: Call of the Queen

Pomegranate juice and eggs;
Each seed within the fruit,
Blooms into a new truth.

Bright as blood

Marked both the entry and the exit wound

Atop shards of glass, purified 

By the heat of the sun

I laid my body to dry.

Emptied now
In shame, I rest;
Precious liquid, stolen from me,
Not sold on grocery store shelves
Further evidence of your generosity.

Though the snake at my doorstep
Said you were dead to begin with
I study each day
To become a resurrectionist 
And love you once again, my Lazarus.

I hold your kingdom
The dove in my chest
I bid you to awaken
And return to its nest.

Borrowed with interest

The first cardinal of spring 

Perched himself on my tree,

A dragonfly kissed me on the cheek,

And a sunburn, finally

The shedding begins—

Empty the cabinets 
Water the garden.

I cannot say I’m sorry,
Nor will I ever beg your pardon;
But I’d throw a coconut in the ocean 
To see how it might grow.

Harvest

A golden maiden gathers the grains;
A silver reaper brings its decay. 

Yesterday I prayed for rain;
Today a tornado came.