Prometheus holds a drop of sun

like a cradled child,

breathing in the remnants of the light

is not an easy task,

he says, yearning and aching,

sighing, burning and weeping.

He is delivering it to the lucky mortals

who get their wishes mixed up with their glory.

I am not one of them, for luck has never felt so foolish with me as with him.

As with him, you cannot say

which side of the sun h...

May gathers the flowers but never brings them.

That is for the earlier months,

for the seamlessly harmonized blend of wool and chambray raining down from a slick balcony in the sky, beyond the clouds, beyond material.

May it rain down whenever I ask it to,

may summer not wring the poet daffodils out dry,

for I am not yet ready for them to mark my old books and pages.

If you ever find I am, t...

Clipped wings were thrown away,

made out of martyr’s clothes and articulate prayers,

he tied a string to the torso

and dropped to his knees from the high place where he was

and there Paul stood, abandoned by every care,

lost to the law, and dead to the world.

Defeated and overcome.

And we thought he had drowned in the water but

we forgot that the water was living,

and our brother reveled in ...

It is as if my hands are blurring red from parting the foliage /

I do not want to clear,

but the time has come to pull the thistles out of my palms.

Blood drips like wax because of the flowers

that have not come close to my name.

Not even to speak it, nor to discover that I have a name I prefer said deeply.

A fingertip touches one delicate petal you might find in the thicket floor, and it does ...

The past is like a diamond;

surefooted,

untraceable.

And I yearn to be untraceable like the past,

the freedom of being unfound.

Determined archaeologists search,

skilled historians scour,

honest scientists might question;

but they will never find

because none seek /

and there is not one who will seek,

even to do what is right.

It is simply not in their greed.

All care for the pay of the world...

I genuinely care for them.

The love I have bleeds out but it is unknown,

and I would never ask someone

to clean up my wounds;

the sheep may be helpless but I am not.

It bleeds out in mystery, in religion;

you cannot see it, but I am not embarrassed by it,

I am not embarrassed by my living.

In the practical sense I dwell on top of a hill,

I sleep outside, play music under the stars, tell st...

well father,

I am thinking again about love and I am wondering again why life is so dramatic and unfair. Here in the shipwreck of it all I have wished many times and thrown all my pennies in the sea. narrower. narrower. now all my baggage is in the sea. It wasn’t useless either.

well father,

I am starting to stare into the sky again and watch as the birds all have somewhere to be. somewhere to ...

Concerning the ranger;

he is both wild and careful.

The very woods he was hewn from, shake with magic — but he was not a craft of nature; he did not profess to control it either.

This striding stranger is the very essence of meekness, but not in sadness, in the choice to quiet down all of his tragedy even though he should not; the choice to stay silent though he is prone to be defiant and unconv...

I am sabotaged by the knowledge that I will miss this day, so I am glad that the sun has touched me.

I am glad that she chose to beat down and warm in the crevices and dips of my shoulder.

It was all very kind and wonderful.

It was all a very beautiful and bustling afternoon.

All blue sky, sweet and tired as ripe oranges.

Hot sand smiling and gleaming with the water heaving against it’s shore...

The sky was blue in my country

the house was blue

my little weeds grew sweetly

lifting their small faces up humbly

to the source of their grounded lives.

My mother didn’t like them;

she yanked them from the dirt

and threw them in a bucket

next to the sandpit.

I didn’t understand

why they chose to grow

where she could see them.

I sat in the little blue sandpit

and crouched down to the eart...