Holy in the Infinite


August 2016

Oh, Honey

Oh, Honey (25 August 2016)

Light slants easy
across the page
you’re sweet
on my tongue
like the flesh of figs
like jam

all these words
stick to my fingers
like the honey
you fed me

sugar sweats
settles to stillness
at the bottom of the mug
stirred with that last
sweep of the spoon

low tones
in the earth
the beginning of a hymnal storm
that leave you
spirit shivering
dampened and opened
turning towards sun

let me tell you
it aches to be stardust
watching yourself change
to see the sun
through your skin

oh, honey
tell me what it’s like
to walk into the wind
because my body
doesn’t recall how this goes,
how to get back
to the darkened earth
and the night sky.
save me a place
if I ever I should drift
from you


I’ve been dead
for a long time now
I’ve sat still
letting silence slip
into my bones

Watching the winters
blow by
and those summers
one long hot day
sliding into night

I twist this rosary
of rosemary
through my fingers
one bead, one branch,
one blossom at a time
practicing prayers
I forgot when I was young
stumbling over the words
I can’t quite remember

My heart turns paper-thin
I always played my cards
too close to my chest,
vellum now,
so thin and weathered,
I can see through myself
to the other side
of waiting

I can feel the wind
in my chambers
rustling curtains
but I don’t mind
as I recall the smell
sun-soaked bergamot
and lemon
in your shirt pocket

take the heat from my body
leave it on the floor
let me step out into newness
a little lighter
a little cooler

Feel the long grass
and the warm sun
against my bare leg
the drift of your fingertips
in this syrup slow night


Drift (10 August 2016)

I hailed from a strange place
an island of angel wings,
where spiderwebs of sunlight,
splintering the tree line,
turn gossamer for the harvest.

But I never belonged
to the waves
to the wings
to the winds
that swept straight through me.

I was always tied to the soil
my feet too bound to fly
Instead, I traced the map
chased my roots
all the way to the earth.
And I collected all these
little dead words,
rotted and weary,
and tucked them deep
down into my traveling pockets.

Prayers are coming down from heaven
like feathers loosed from birds
drifting down
at a time
like the beginnings of the rain.

My bed so full of ghosts
and emptied stars,
where would I put love
if she came to me tonight?

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