One of my faves. . .

I wrote this poem in June of 2006. It is one of my favorite pieces of writing, for many reasons.
The emotive quality of it, the person it was written for and the ease in which the words came forth from the center of me. I remember the feeling like it was just yesterday.

I read it today for the first time in awhile. I was finally able to. Now, I'm sharing it with you. Enjoy.


I love you as if you were the dark stone among the lillies
or the lineage of dandelions which begets that sacred longing
between petals of seething joy

I love you as certain dark things are cherished
. . . living there
secretly
amidst the denigration of loneliness and soul

I love you as the Autumn whos depth
bends between beauty and hideous stages of turning
yet still distinguishes itself without fail
. . .
and transfers within its living--
the intrinsic ingredients which cause
buds to blossom
and trees to undress
at once

Gratitude be, wholly to your unadulterated love of me
where the shadow of my being humbly resonates

I have loved you without eyes to see you
without understanding how the components
of my existence have become arms to hold you
(the highest honor)

And with a gentle blade
which has whittled my dry words into song
We seek our God, baffled to find
our hearts beating there inside of his
A three part harmony rises from the center
shattering the fragile lies built around us

And a thousand broken pieces shout out his holiness
there in his face, your name and mine
are written there

I love you with the byzantine quality of simplicity
devoid of skisms and pride

I love you this way because
I am incapable of offering my life to yours
any other way

this is a loving in which
you are not only you
and
I am not only me
but
So close
that your hand which massages my shoulder
is my hand
and
when the lullaby of your lips
causes my eyes to succumb to dreams
it is your eyes which close inside them

Growing

Growing

And now, the recesses of my life hurry forward
as if they were moving in more distended canals
(my arms better for holding than for picking up broken pieces)
Vague things are becoming more promimate to me
and all facsimiles are more carefully looked upon
The shame of childhood
Those familiar phobias of devoir
no longer does my joy only struggle outward, but I am receiving it back
and I find myself placing silent consonants within promises
that I wouldn't have dared pronouce before, or even recognize
I am growing beyond my being (into yours)

I feel more comfortable with that which is bearding, undistinguished
(trusting you)
and with my laughter, as with a child
I look up into a stairway which leads to celestial spaces
and wonder if I am becoming
the interval which places meaning and longing inside them,
or am I the falcon flying across the screen of eternity, all the same

I am gliding into our forever