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        mom's lawn

        weaves of grass
        the yellow-green quilt of the front lawn cradles me
        under late night stars
        or covered in the early morning dew

        going on 14 years now,
        mom will always hesitate on calling the lawn ‘grass’
        "or i should say, we need to cut the weeds"
        always a work in progress

        handstands, hand mowers, hornets and holes
        the summer air, the night breeze
        we are lovers and our hearts free
        when that fact seems to escape me
        the yellow-green quilt of the front lawn cradles me

     
        thoughts on The Teak Forest
        
        today, there was a moment
        when i peered through a familiar three colored lens–
        like when the syrupy bridge lights flowed steadily towards the river bank
        or when the gray sky enveloped me gazing far off from the balcony

        or in the old kitchen digging into a watermelon
        hands stained red
        sticky juice and black seeds spilling onto the floor
        my rib cage sore and face wet with tears

        in her face
        i couldn’t see 81 years
        i couldn’t see a wonderful mind fading away
        with no hope to cling to

        we spoke about The Teak Forest.
        and in that sacred moment,
        i had the right poem
        and the right teacher.

        we concluded you can’t control who you fall in love with
        only how you act on those feelings.
        i was swallowed up in two nights and the month of spring
        she was facing a slow and lonely death.

        we knew two different loves in two different lives,
        yet we found common ground in the depths of a forest.
        we shared a smile and hug
        and carried on.

    
        the volunteer
        
        be happy and 
        be healthy. 
        he smokes too
        and we've got angels on our side. 
        
        cheerio!
        there's a warm feeling inside 
        to show others the magic of nature 
        for himself
                

        daydreaming
        meticulous work
        birthing the trail
        curse civilization 
                
        he is me
        i am him
        spirit of
        spirit of

    
        atlas 
        
        dream and reality bear a heavy load   
        that we carry upon us with due diligence
        just like Atlas before us
        condemned for every fiery fight.
            
        out in the ether, a tether reaches out to me.
        an umbilical cord of divine energy surging under my skin
        sparking fast and wild like heat lighting during the dawn of the dog days.
        a cool warm voice whispers calmly to me -
            
        you're as strong as you standing feet
        and as devoted as your kneeling knees.
        allow me to soften the load you carry on your feeble back
        so that you may move with a natural embrace into the bright naked moonlight.
            
        as that voice fades i'm enveloped by light.
        feeling only bliss and knowing only what's asked.
        i'll see the red sun rise, warming the holy land in my chest
        and i'll see it set that evening, falling back into myself.
            
        wherever i go and whatever i do,
        i'll be guided by the moon and by the voice
        to see the perfect sun rise and perfect sun set.
    
        december 

        a network of frozen creeks flows steadily but surely 
        even thru this weary and dark season, 
        spelling out that everything goes forth-
        no matter the weight.
        
        another december has come
        a new year awaits at its end.
        
        i am young and ripe
        grasping at the ends of a fleeting peak.
        the cold air and smoke phasing thru my lungs
        as sure and steady as the march of time.
        
        i am a tree- roots and all.
        standing vigilant and tall.
        
        i stand to see another season 
        taller and stronger than ever before 
        a choir nested in my hair
        the winter birds sing their songs
               
        come stay warm with me.
        the spring sunshine beckons us.
        
        let’s plant a velvet seed
        the bloom will fill our hearts
        with beauty and with love
        to last another season
        
    
        shiver

        a shiver runs down your spine
        and the city takes a deep breath.

        body after body carefully course
        thru concrete capillaries and asphalt arteries
        slow baking under the sun

        somewhere to the north
        you hear the loss of passion
        in a person's voice
        and everything comes to a halt

        suddenly no one moves
        and the city is holding her breath
        in what feels like an hour
        the moment passes

        and you return to yourself
        in an empty cafe
    
        crow
        
        i want to be free
        as the soaring crow
        on the horizon.
        flying with friends 
        and family alike.

        the sky is a beautiful place
        but i do not know its embrace.
        i know the land
        the soil grass and duff
        concrete and asphalt

        fallen rocks
        rough edges
        open spaces
        show some care
        for every anchor in my body   
    
        floating

        we are floating
        through the unfathomable ether
        of time and space.
        tethered to nothing
        except our minds,
        connected solely by love.

        love so robust and resolute that
        even the soft forest breeze,
        singing the worlds sweetest duet,
        envies to know what strange strength
        lies within our hearts.

        a beautiful spring day awaits in my heart.
        for me to be warmed underneath is warm, blistering sun
        i’ll pollinate the hearts around me
        waiting for a flower to bloom somewhere inside me.


        in the flash of that moment
        i shall know-
        i hold more power than the heat of a thousand suns
        and i am more beautiful than every birds song and the wind in the trees.