Plea

Although you are a blurry distant thought to me,
My heart is always tugging me to your horizon.
Where are you?
In my mind are trees and hills and cities of shadow,
Speckled with light where your eyes fall favorably.
All the ambiguous clots of "if" and "maybe" without punctuation,
Crystal balls and lines on a palm,
A dangling charm,
A deck of cards?
A line of words, perhaps, or two,
Warm and hopeful, an empty eggshell.
Who cares? I have nothing to touch.
I beg you
I beg you
Oh, wait for me.
Lie in the echoing plains of our future,
Let my words find you and bring you to God,
Let God find me and bring me to you.
My head fits perfectly under your chin,
And your smile fits perfectly into my gaze.
Not because I'm whole,
My hands, my heart are pulled to brokenness
Like extrasensory magnetism.
Will you be broken when I find you?
Breathe and
Sleep and
Know that I’m coming.
Already you are flowing in my veins,
Pulsing in my nerves,
Singing in my mind.
The need for your eyes
As sure as a vitamin deficiency.
I live,
Never thrive,
I lack you, and have no source but God.
I’m tired.
I pray that the rubble of my mistakes dissolve,
My one big mistake,
I was not fortified, a wilting flower
All too willing to be plucked by an admirer.
Still, when his arms were around me,
I was in yours.

Rhapsody in the Cosmic Pit Orchestra

In the rear of the room
sequestered in stained-glass starglow
a pink-clothed woman sways and swirls
Beat, fermata
Exhale, quiver
Champagne cello and dark-chocolate drum
A chortling guitar flicks the flames of
candles on the floor
Rivers of watercolor rapture
rush overhead
I reach up my fingertips to brush the
tail of a trail of stars
Heads left and right nod loosely in the
inscence-liquor languor
peace palpable
softly shocking
the scent of wind over water
Sandals tap to the thunder-velvet beat
of an oil-painting stallion
flowing fast behind
his home is wonderment
Color like VanGogh's tears surrounds me
texture of falling through storm clouds
taste of lavender spice and ice cream
Inhale, shudder
On the smooth wooden floor a child
lies sleeping
drifting and dancing in dusky-lit dreams
Despite all the demons which cling to my ankles
(it seems one is born every birthday)
I hold out my palm, into which
falls a feather-light blessing
In the pastel rivers above
the soul of a silent girl twirls and swirls
clothed in sunset with slippers of pearl
She flickers, waxing periwinkle and
tangerine
Leaping, melting, born each moment in her
wild-winged ballet
I meet her eyes gazing down, blazing down
My soul recognizes myself.