In the way I am intimate with God. (4-5-2010)

Never before have I been so close, so calmly near the witness,
where I can run in the grass, panting from my lungs,
awake to the sun and mountains.

I give the credit to my mom, to the letter I wrote my aunt,
the phone call that reconnected me to my friend.
With them here in my heart, with a romantic embrace
only a few days behind me, with my lips making contact
with romance as she reintroduces herself.

Shall we awake to detachment of reputations that will
demand what is too soon and what is too late?
Can we please let go of our minds whose obsessive desire
to create absolutes, which gets in the way of me holding
you down, showing you with my wild lips how much I
desire to be close to you in the way I am intimate
with God.

I will throw myself into passion, vaporizing in
essence and out of form, I dedicate myself to patience,
declaring myself to love. I will bound myself to these
precious vows whether you participate with me or leave.
And I will always stay deep in this commitment, and be
a companion to the brave and willing.

(4-4-2010)

It is beautiful how after years
of ruling the land, after years
of saying, "No, not that!"
The mind observes the grace in the heart,
hands her his crown and scepter saying,
"Here, turn me off. You take over
for a while."

The Poets Prayer (4-3-2010)

You have to dig for your clothing after a shower.
Its practice is all too familiar.
The stomach quakes upon discovering his shirts.
It quakes when sitting in places you’ve shared together.
It quakes at ideas of driving where he might be.
Should I call him, “How are you? Are you doing okay?”
The tightness in your being, in your throat and in your chest
is met with the greeting of intelligence, “Not today.”
“Okay,” you say, annoyed at how these situations never seem
to uncover those trying to dig into life as deeply as you.
You can wake up in the morning to a vow,
committing to service, giving into love.
Every morning you repeat the poet’s prayer,
“Love, and don’t stop.”