Recent writings

Roadmaps.


In the moments 
following a heavy rain,
I hear you.


Softly at first,
Like a mother might
hear her child,
thirsty from chasing
half-forgotten dreams,
call out to her
for a glass of water.


Then, as the storm passes,
the trees quiet,
lost in their earthly contemplation, 
your voice comes swiftly,
enveloped in the pink gossamer 
of a morning dove's chorus. 
Forever filling images 
of a rapidly fading Florida
with your presence.
Always soft and deliberate.


It is in this exact moment,
when it is I feel
so utterly inconsequential 
and diminished
that I fall in love with you
again.


I want nothing more 
than to acquiesce to you.
Flesh and bone becoming
salted and uneven pages,
the words speaking of
fragmented desires and
plagues unknown.
Black ink ebbing and flowing
as equals,
together making the woman
seeking the roadmaps of your hands
to guide her home.


But like the storm,
so he, too, is fleeting.
Inhibited and grey.
Yet, she always waits.
Sitting and reveling in his brevity
before patiently returning
to the house of her chest,
putting out the candle
she lights every night
and that once drew him
to the windows of her heart.


-Written 7.19.10


South Beach Speculations


There's something about swimming in the ocean that allows for a rebirth that only salt water can bring. The soul seems to be swept clean, picked apart with each passing grain of sand. Made transparent as though returning to a state of sea glass. Each vein turning to foam, bloated with the ashes of dead fish and oil. But she, the ocean, remains intact although slightly altered. Her presence a reminder that we came from her belly and will some day return through her mouth. 


-Written 7.23.10