In September of 2017, I moved to Oliva, Spain, a small city on the Mediterranean coast, 70km south of Valencia.
We draw breaths —
And through the shy crowns
Above our picnic
I glimpse a curious universe.
A woman. A nice woman. A nice, beautiful woman. A very nice, beautiful woman. It's going to be different this time.
A very nice, beautiful woman with child. A family. A family of three. A very happy family of three. A very happy family of three on vacation. A tragedy. A tragedy while walking. A tragedy while walking on vacation. A couple. A morose couple. A morose, inconsolable couple. A divorce. A miserable divorce. A miserable divorce that goes on for years. Someone new. Meeting someone new. Learning to forgive so you can meet someone new. Learning to forgive so you can trust someone new. Learning to meet and trust someone new. A woman. A nice woman. A very nice woman. It’s going to be different this time.
HANG A TINY BELL
FROM A HUNGRY, AGILE CAT,
AND ALTER ALL THINGS.
Do not seek your abusers.
They will be drawn to you
like dogs to laughter —
just look at Balthazar,
He is not a donkey,
but a mirror.
There is a wasp on my stomach, drawn by the juice of a nectarina. I'll risk the sting, and not shoo him, while you pick naranjas, frejas, and granada for my afternoon Spanish lesson.
You’ve torn your stitches again.
I tend them with needle and thread,
kissing your lips when I’m done.
You can’t keep doing this, I say.
If you want me to kiss you, just ask.
And though you smile that you understand,
we both look forward to tomorrow,
when your fingers will again
undo my delicate work.
We don't know it yet, but you're gonna be dead in the morning.
Saturday, they're gonna drive you to your grave in a bitchin' hearse.
Come spring, insects will break into your casket and tear you apart.
For all time, your energy will cycle through everything and everybody.
In this form, this is our last night together. But we will meet again, because we are one, and this has all happened before.
WE ARE ALL WOVEN
INTO THE UNIVERSE,
AND THOUGH SOME MISTAKE
THE TUG OF PASSED LOVES
FOR INVITATIONS TO CROSS OVER,
I KNOW THAT YOU PULL
TO TIGHTEN MY WEAVE.
If she's anywhere,
I wake and reach for her,
finding only darkness.
Does she sleep too, and dream that I surround her?
We are locked in a cycle,
turning to power this earth.
Gods wager on the consequence
of our inevitable union.
TELL ME EVERYTHING -- OR TELL ME NOTHING.
BUT KILL THE LIGHT, SO I CAN BETTER SEE YOUR FACE.
Hanging my hat on my knee
I feel the heat escape my
What went with it?
Is this the process of dying —
tiny, frequent releases
night and day?
& those who appear younger with time —
are they breathing it in?
Can it be learned or
transferred with a kiss,
Where do I go to meet them?
And whom do I buy a drink?