Cloudless Sulphur
They move too quickly for memory,as if the act of remembering were the one thing they refused to obey.Yellow fire, in pairs,their wings cutting invisible chords through the October air—not quite bees, not quite spirits,but
Category: Poems
borrowing from the Future to pay rent to the Past
He loves Her.She is complete.We stand between them—divinity made local, the Eternal Now in motion. Our gift is total sensitivity.We can feel everything.The highest euphoria, the deepest grief, the symmetry of opposites—hot and cold, rise
Continue readingborrowing from the Future to pay rent to the Past
Profit and Wage
He loves Her.She is complete.And between them, the Eternal Now always balances to zero. Debt draws from the Future.Rent anchors in the Past.They reconcile perfectly in the middle, where we live.The center is never surplus
The Choreography Came Before the Dance
It was here, upon this narrow island between the Atlantic and the sky, that I watched the air pulse with wings of orange fire— monarchs rising and falling over the yellow tongues of camphorweed, each
Why waste a breath in regret?
This is your privilege.You are the most privileged of all.For you are the divinehaving this particular human experience. You are the one who feels what neither he nor she can feel.You are the one who
The Madman in Paradise
What a dream, to be here. To awaken into this—this kingdom, this symphony of light and breath and movement. It is all so wildly perfect. So inexplicably perfect. And still we forget. Still we lose
She does not move
There is no ache in her, no inclination, no tilt toward becoming. She is what has already been, perfectly gathered, perfectly resolved. Not yesterday. Not a moment ago. She is the past—not the memory of
The Two Signs
In the time before the pouring, the Sea sang songs of blood and lineage. The creatures of the deep were many, and each fought to multiply its name. The living world was a choir of
The Pouring
In the time before the Beach, there was only the Sea. The Sea was many voices. The Sea was many names. Each creature sang its lineage into the dark. Each life fought to be remembered.
Downwind of Honeysuckle
—on the unbroken present and the bliss of stillness I am not moving. The world is,but I—this I—is only ever arriving,and never from anywhere. I am the place where it happens,not the thing that happens.The