At Will

Your mouth turns

down like an arrowless bow.

Your eyes,

prefaced by your round

forehead riveted by brows,

are tilted down.

Eyes

that thread my subconscious

through them

until I am swaying,

my arms and legs

boughs in the wind

of your voice.

You breathe me into

the bosom of your voice,

as it spins out of your body

like hand spun glass,

until I am nocked

across the bow of your lips

to be released at your will.

A nock is the notch in an arrow, through which you place the bow string. To nock is to prepare to fire your arrow. Dont believe me? Look it up.

Fire Water

Out of my element

I had a dream

that you were dangling your feet

in a pool of fire.

It lapped against your legs

leaving them cool and wet.

You slid in

splashing me with smoke,

then swimming on your back

you called out to me,

"Come,

come on in!

The fire is still and deep."

I jumped in

and sank like a cinder

flung in the air,

swirling down until

my feet touched the ashes

and the water was clear.

Out of your element

When I took you home

your house was full of water.

In the aquamarine patches of light

we could see the water

licking at your windows,

spreading up the curtains,

devouring the timbers.

You opened the door

to reveal a blazing wall of water.

Flames like sea spray

licked at your boots,

enticing.

It might burn.

We might drown.

Will you step inside?

Somewhere Over Burma

The idea for this poem came from John Irvings The Cider House Rules

The earth breathes in

the smells of spice and toil,

the heaviness in the air

pulls you

down,

coaxing

sleep into your veins

Over Burma you die

only if the dream is cut out of you

only if it rises into the sky 

like a dirigible.

I am still in love

that me who floats

a mile over the Burmese jungle.

If youandI collided

armsandlegs in a jumble

would I awake

whole,

or would we fall together,

landing in

the treetops,

somewhere over Burma.

"Why do you do that?"

I put out the candle with my fingers.
I was afraid that I would splatter you with wax,
afraid that I might breathe on you,
afraid you might breathe me in.

Really I was just afraid.

A little burn between my fingers
is better than the burn of wax against your face,
you peeling off the residue with your finger nails;
is better than the burn of my heart against yours.

I can peel my own self off, thank you very much.
Not to mention the smoke
that would bind our eyes and blind our lungs,
and we, sightless and gasping like two dead fish,
would end up together.

Thats why.

Perspective

He walks on the ceiling

calves knotting

and unknotting.

I lay here on the floor

watching

him sit

(on the ceiling)

and sip peppermint tea.

When you look me in the eyes

I realize I'm

the one whos levitating.

Your down is my up

your floor is my ceiling

and the walls run between us.

So Fast

I had a dream

that I ran away from you

so fast,

that I ran to you,

leaving,

coming back.

You found these poems

and knew

that they were about you.

You said I was a lousy poet.

I ran away from you

fast,

but you kept

leaving

your name laying around.

There was a twist

of you and me that night.

And I ran away

so fast,

that I ran to you,

coming back,

leaving.

Breathless

Fall is a hungry season.

The last of the fruit still swelling

from bowed limbs

knotted

up inside,

like you.

like

the inside

of me.

Fall gives me air hunger.

A ring of metal at the base of a tree

seals a promise

breathless

like you,

like me.

Sun Spots

You have the sun setting

deep inside,

casting red across your brow.

Your eyes

taste

the space between us

and the smell of ozone

keeps me from getting singed

when I come too close

your dark spots

blind me.

Bite

Your eyes have teeth like knives.

Every look from you is a

nip into my flesh,

which shivers

under garments

of sky.

We have the clothes of heaven.

Your eyes have teeth

like a comb tracing

over my scalp,

through my hair

tangling around it,

encircling it

like a bracelet.

A Comentary on Your Gentleness

The clematis in my garden

has entangled itself in your honeysuckle.

They climbed over the trellis,

confused the bumble bees,

swallowed a watering can whole.

Your mouth turns down

as you regard me over the trellis,

oiling my pruning shears.

Is it necessary, you ask, to separate them?

Their unnatural union

merely an above ground occurance.

You have your garden,

I have mine.

The trellis runs between us

and the smell of cut flowers fills the air.