Focusing on shiny objects (instead of disaster)

In my dreams last night, we
the planet, but also
(especially)
humanity,
teetered on the brink
of a black hole
time spun out of control
planes fell into the oblivion beyond
and everything shifted sideways
but the light changed, too,
so that in our terror
we were distracted,
bathed in rainbows.

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Visions of a city

Between all the signs of modernity —

glass-to-sky, scaffolding, sleek lines —

I scour the streets seeking this city’s ghosts 

the old cemeteries are the only places still alive 

there, ghosts breathe among trees and birds and earth-scents

elsewhere, cobbles and ancient stones whisper, but silently

their shadows hidden by larger, darker forms 

and parasols, slogans screaming brightly.

I did what I could to seek them, these ancient figures,

but so much of them is gone, so much of now is blind to the past

I went down to the river, hoping the water would at least be constant

but even it it is barely recognizable, churned now by motors and fumes.

The heart of this city is a-bustle 

everyone moving to their own rhythm

but here and there doors remain slightly ajar, open onto lives past,

hinting at some other world.

Glancing sideways I have seen them in their aloof existence

beyond the  hot, dripping streets.

Celestial journey

We are scattered to the wind, now, like seeds drifting, untethered yet to the earth, or like stars 

flung to the corners of the galaxy, each a brilliant blaze of light, dancing apart in a shifting sky

turning, twirling, wheeling free and onward to some unknown future-bound meeting point.

As space and time pull us on, we spin faster, raising our hands stretching them out, reaching for each other

leaning toward our reunion  – the scent of it, crackling sweet like a great celestial bonfire

(bright as the birth of stars -though your birth was eons ago now; this on our horizon is a different celebration, another marker in the universe of us)

tonight I can smell it, almost see it, close enough to anticipate, I settle in, the shooting stars around me intensify, 

and I wait.

Autobiography

The stories we tell about ourselves
hang like stars in the night sky
infinite, glowing bright,
until they wheel onward, unseen
to the other side of consciousness
returning one day with memories uncovered
for people new to us to greet

What stories do you weave about yourself
which constellations do you show which story do you leave hidden, silent
to wish upon like evening’s first star?

We control the setting
paint our truths across the splash of night
and leave our thoughts about our own dark-sky corners
for solitude’s consideration
sharing only on those special nights
when a bright conjunction is framed by twilight blue
when the pinpricks align
and the crescent pauses in the sunset sky
when a twinkling streaks across indigo
flashing for a moment before it disappears
when wonder and intimacy overcome fear and doubt
when, in colonizing another – their skin, their eyes, their heart –
we bare all.

Over stormy seas

The words don’t come when the mind is bound
when feelings are tossed and thrown around
lost
on unseen seas

The currents swirl
alive with jolts –
is this lightening
or dark, hidden creatures shot through with electric sparks?

Above, the moon shines full
serene, all knowing
she betrays nothing of the churn below
benevolent, ageless
she waits for this, too, to pass

She has watched the ebb and flow of the human heart
for long enough to see the patterns
for long enough to know
everything changes —
even this.