The song comes from inside the garden-there are few roses left. In this collection of words, I craft vignettes of self. I become you in the shadow of your hope.
Milk and honey flow beyond the gates of heaven Why, if not to live?
Somewhere I find it Somewhere it goes
Unfold my desire keep it in your pocket
When I wake up will I remember me?
Nobody sees me I see nobody
Grey clouds and pulling seams and danger danger in me
A loss of self overcomes me. In the morning and in the evening. Loss. Loss. A loss like death. Or a death like loss. A loss which hides in the shadows of my rose garden. One loss and many roses. I see only the flowers. And this loss tastes like honey on my tongue. Bitter…
I tear like the golden rope which ties us together
A loss of self in two puddles of the same rain
A sun dances somewhere making gold shadows honey, honey do not sit
Two black eyes sitting away from here -how not to be vain?
Some hold their hands under sacred water While their faces bleed
How music tastes when I press my tounge against it and breathe in the mist
To learn the culture Listen
Must I be bare in fulfilling my need of being seen?
Peel away bark of a tree and it stands still, taller
I breathe in the light Before lines and shapes and hues Therefore, I am gone
Fog conceals the sun If only for a moment
Poetry wraps around me. Surrender. Arms and legs and face falling. I am in love with the nothingness-everywhere.