Her eyes, small caresses
of simple sweetness
on skin, on the moment…
softly gently on white linen
she produces magic and
lightness and my fear (an
old friend), sinks down
though consciousness
and drifts away: silently 
…slowly I become peace 
tranquility lay over me
a thick blanket protecting
me; always wanted always
wanted, always so far away
she is simply there with
herself, bringing everything
she has and forgetting
what is not required
I don’t know I’m waiting as
she blinks and the smallest
lift at her mouth’s corner
red red flower pedal lips, a
smile forms: my peace is
a fountain an explosion of
warmth and I forget my
old friend completely.

He said “It’s a huge empty
chasm between you and I” 
“You said that with a “cha”
sound, like in Chuck, chip
or chaps…it’s a “ka” sound
though, like camp or cat…”
she said looking earnest. 
He looked at her with tired
eyes, with a nod he kind of
agreed and knew that she
would never understand. 
“I didn’t need direct evidence…
but thanks.”  She watched
him and smiled with her eyes
her mouth her lips she ran
a finger across his arm,
tracing a line into circles, to
infinite loops of daydreams
of knowing…she looked
over the edge and down, the
emptiness of the chasm filling
in from the edges, the middle
gaining ground…”It’s only
empty of the things you know
about.” she said finally “it’s
filled to the rim with the things
you don’t.”  His thoughts sat
down all at once and gathered
themselves…agreeing that
she was probably right. 

Ignore your voice listen
to the sound…listen to
the vibration the meaning
inside, inside the moment
the words left on tongue
on skin—on and on—they 
echo in the splinter of
time between today and
tomorrow all the way toward
a thing a time a place to
feel who you are who you
will know when you are who
you want love cherish hold
and be…ignore your sight
watch that piece of time you
live in slowly bend across
the horizon softly slipping by
sliding into nothing; feel
the effort the movement in
that long arc as it caresses
the idea that there is a
beginning, an end, anything
real at all other than what we
believe….ignore the touch, an
sense of impending friction…
a singular pressure; a sliding,
again and again, realization
that what you know, who you
are where you should be…is
only where-who-why you think
in that splinter, that split-second
that you exist that you breathe
the air of knowing…of learning.

It is a small thing, a
little bit of time of
difference of wanting
and watching…it is
a mere idea I have
a wisp of smoke,
spare and floating
into nothing…it is
the idea that I
have been waiting
and did not know
did not realize
that a missing
something, a lost
something else
was so large
and important
that inside I
waited without
telling myself
and all the while
I have been
living
breathing
eating
sitting
talking
working
having
losing
being
seeing
believing
ignoring
sleeping
falling
and waiting
for you.

Her sense is on me, in,
around me and I am
burning; a cold blaze
of the empty space
where she stood…her
lips hovered, hesitated
briefly touched mine
and went away

Her sense is inside my
ideas, my thoughts are
lost, stragglers on a
path toward knowing
toward replacing that
empty space with her
face, her eyes, her lips
again and again

He sense bewitched me
bewitches me, a careless
spell casually left on my
skin, on my thoughts, a
warm shadow, a duvet
filled with her, with the
idea of her…covering
me, over and over

Her sense lay in layers
like smoke in the room,
like misty stripes swirling
eddies of slow smiles of
warmth and eternity…she
stood…her lips hovered,
hesitated…briefly touched
mine and went away

Where we lost our innocence
whether a roadside bomb…a
paddy in Vietnam, a ghetto in
Warsaw…Gettysburg in the fall
on oceans with cannon…fields
with arrows, between two men
hand to hand, we lost what we
had, we had the choice when
the choice was not life, was not
peace and sustenance…we lost

So innocence is gone but has
been for years eons forever we
admit that we dream that we wish
that we think of innocence…to be
clean again to be who we never
were thinking of people that never
existed…we want the idea the
feeling that we are above above the
fray…we were never but our
dreams tell us different

Finding our way back is not
enough not nearly enough or
possible but we try we have religion
we create a past and a future with
magic and hope we look longingly
at ourselves as if we can be
different we laugh at death whistle
past graveyards…we put the dead in
the ground in our rearview in the
past; we prefer knowing an ever-after
better than a now

You can use my
skin to breathe
my eyes to see
yourself, my
arms to hold you
tight…she said
to me under
covers, under the
impression of time
the move toward
the center…I  
couldn’t hold tight
enough, close
enough I couldn’t
think; I chose to
breathe
a moment lost, a
little minute of
warm effort, I
felt her heart beat
on skin, on time
on and on and
I helped myself
and breathed
her skin covering
the minutes
between here and
then.

A million miles per hour
slower than breath, you
realize the life inside, the
growing expanding, in a
parallel direction…a
synthesis of two souls
forever connected

The inner direction, a
minute a motion toward
away…always in line
with where you are,
where your mind thinking
sense of center is going
has been

That vector holds you
a small comfort, a
massive energy; all in
you cradle the dream
hands of silk and velvet
shadows hiding the
motion

Your mind’s eye, serene
unblinking, cannot avert
cannot look away from
the truth inside, the
multiplying self…with
wonderment and
belief

The process continues
more living done in small
favors, in tiny increments
covering he face of reality
the breadth of knowing
being seeing having
doing

Daily, by the minute
hour second week
month year we
anesthetize those
areas that hurt bother
make us uncomfortable
make us (we think) do
against ourselves
we prefer the dull
nothingness of frozen
nerves over sharp
edges of knowing being
seeing believing having
doing…when we don’t
can’t believe see have
can do…

We wake up or we don’t
the anesthesia a form of
repentance a kind of
gravity pulling us toward
the end of a a life we
neither remember or
really lived

can do…
can’t believe see have
doing…when we don’t
seeing believe having
edges of knowing being
nerves over sharp
nothingness of frozen
we prefer the dull
against ourselves
make us (we think) do
makes us uncomfortable
areas that hurt bother
anesthetize those
month year we
hour second week
Daily, by the minute

We can’t
reverse
what we’ve
never felt

The villainy of remembrance, that
cruel joke played out over time, over
and over we sit and suffer the harsh
echo’s of a life lived in darkness, in
the emptiness between wishing and
believing.

We are the seconds
the minutes, the hours
the long eventual belief
that life was always ours

The clouds part every so often, they
unhide a knowing sun, a warmth of
understanding, the vibrant truth we
know…who we are without shadow
stain or deeply inscribed reason
for not being

We are the echo’s, the  
reverberation of heartbeat
and tiny bits of knowledge
that makes us complete

Knowing the sun exists on cold dark
days, an endless vista of sameness,
we part the clouds in thought, in our
dreams we let the warmth fall slowly on
an upturned face, and we return
to living

We are always, we are
now and we are ourselves
the dreams that live inside
just us and no one else