Is your brokenness
conditional?
How quickly does it leave you?
My mother told me
to stop searching,
stay where you are.
I am being chased
on my way to here.
You are made of me.
Combed out angel hair.
Gold and brown.
Argan oil.
A cry.
A sparkle.
Red nails
against the doorknob.
Tell me,
how did
your beauty
find you?
I was once the shadow
of myself
The shadow remains
as my soul
on my soul
Every man
that could be you
is you
Death stands by the doorway. Push her out. Push her out. I am afraid.
Colors of Our Land
Pink and honey, and gold and soft colors, and black and cream and white, and roses and pastels and red, and blues of water, blues of eyes, and blues of our flag.
Love
What came first: love or life?
I
Of your self?
I separated you from any self
No one knows what what their sister
feels
She is azure
and alive
II
I cannot pray for more
My prayer is to cure
with gratitude
III
No one
asks the smiling man
where he goes to sleep
You wake to the snow
Your body is glass
Fill it with spirits
If I never returned to you
to myself
we would drink the ocean
from separate sides of it
crying a siren song
For hours the candle pulled in light. And from where we stood it shimmered like gold. A poem to you is not a poem for you. I write small revolutions, but the paper and the pen soften my fingers.
A last day
for each last day becomes
like the one in the mirror,
I live without separating
the reflection from the truth
From where it grazes
the zebra is unaware of its hide
Most days, I find it
in the chest beneath my chest
Where is your smile?
For your hunger forgot itself
by the river
for your child’s sake