dear love,

it is only with this feeling, that i have come to embrace,
our existence, that no longer is "ours,"
but a part of the infinite universe.
as we disentangle our faith,
release the body from it's embrace,
will you feel my form float into ether?
I will vanish to your senses,
but to earth, I am still here.
It is in our death,
that our bodies will merge into being,
shatter all light, and create possibilities,
of Divine Union into existence.
Dear Love,
I have welcomed you here,
now moments have bestowed upon us,
only memories,
gardens,
a yearning for dreams.
Must we always part so illusive to the eye?
I cannot grip my hands enough
to engage memory.
It is here and now,
that I sit with the sorrow
deeply lit above the rib cage.
I ask of my becoming,
why dost the journey tread with pain?
The journey, the voice says,
in search of love is,
like the journey in search of God.

bird man.

i will seat you at the ledge of a cliff,
and whisper at the base of your spine;
your body will shutter
at the speed of my breathe.

It will tantilze your mind,
into believing,
that a light body is real.

you will press your hands
upon me,
to clear all memory

now.

I will be your arrival,
when Holy Light
comes into being.

You will walk the distant sun,
into the shore,
where the dead birds fall,
bodys for the sand.

The conch shells of mermaids
will drawn you in,
to the whirlwind
of eternal fire.

I float with my body there, a green printed dress,
as if the earth will succumb me.

You gaze into me from a distance,
you know I will be the woman that bears your children.

You can taste my legs,
as if the budding honey suckel,
will only wither with time.

I become the pavement,
figured in the stone-sand,
my feet bare the sharpness
of ocean earth rock.

We become the tobacco
that you infume,
the misdirected post-signs,
the endless pathways that leads
to a difference in crossing.

I am home,
where the rivers are contant,
and there really isn't
a place of 'belonging,"
to a person ,
place,
or thing.

You follow the north wind home,
you are a bird,
towards the center of the sun,
you become,
a pagan to the distant moon.


II. a dream.

You forwarn me, that the time
is coming,
the gates are closing.

A dream of your hand disappearing
into the distance...

Imagine a tunnel,
black, lit at the end
with a glowing white light.

an ascended being
stands before it,

you cannot tell
who it is,


but upon closeness,
that being becomes you.

I remain here where
the light is closing,
realizing the death,
of becoming alive.

I stay tuned into the radio waves,
but your shadows disappear.

I am this, I am.
I am, I am.

a new home to call home.

i seem to have left what was home and familiar again. i believe i like the discomfort of the strangeness of land. i enjoy moving from my attachment to stillness. always pacing from one earth to the next, i will re-write the map again. i look back to the moments in my life, and how much clarity there is from a distance. sometimes i regret so eagerly going as if there was no emotion in the movement. but then i think back to my dreams and how they are never encumbered by one station or one exit sign. perhaps i was meant to be like a stream, moved by gravity, in the direction of earth patterns.