How Can I Say This?
If intimate is something I want too occasionally,
Is there a punishment for that? Or is it simple economics?
Does Relationship cost too much to save for Sunday Best,
Are we who crave connection rare as Sabbath-day
Denied this avenue of sacred?
Have only this choice: pretense or isolation?
Can I touch you when I want to touch you?
When I am lit up with curiosity and appreciation and enchantment?
Can I be alive with you when everything alive about me
Wants nothing more than to be with you
And if that doesn’t happen very often, is it of no value when it does?
There is only so much of my life, and less every day.
Is it wrong to say
This is what makes me feel like living
And then spend the most of it there?
What if there are no faces attached to it…
No smiling eyes, no embraces,
No people in my paradise?
How can I say this? It’s not personal.
I just love what I love.
The spaciousness of time alone.
The quiet light.
Falling asleep while the rain falls too
Through a grey soft afternoon sky.
And catching fire one thought to the next.
Bouncing and bouncing ideas between fast-firing brains.
Speed and slang and shortcuts and shared vision.
And the again and again
And again
Of perfecting so that,
Some moment,
Everything can go wrong and beauty will still rightly arise.
Working alone or -
In silence - side by side,
Toward impeccability.
Alone, at work - in love.
Everywhere else -
Except for fleeting, miraculous moments of serendipitous connection -
Punching a clock.
Struggling to be courteous until I can run home to the open and the empty,
Dive back into the deep-currented dark ocean where the work of shaping swims.
I want to be there more than I want to be with anyone.
But not instead.
Is there a punishment for that? Or is it simple economics?
Does Relationship cost too much to save for Sunday Best,
Are we who crave connection rare as Sabbath-day
Denied this avenue of sacred?
Have only this choice: pretense or isolation?
Can I touch you when I want to touch you?
When I am lit up with curiosity and appreciation and enchantment?
Can I be alive with you when everything alive about me
Wants nothing more than to be with you
And if that doesn’t happen very often, is it of no value when it does?
There is only so much of my life, and less every day.
Is it wrong to say
This is what makes me feel like living
And then spend the most of it there?
What if there are no faces attached to it…
No smiling eyes, no embraces,
No people in my paradise?
How can I say this? It’s not personal.
I just love what I love.
The spaciousness of time alone.
The quiet light.
Falling asleep while the rain falls too
Through a grey soft afternoon sky.
And catching fire one thought to the next.
Bouncing and bouncing ideas between fast-firing brains.
Speed and slang and shortcuts and shared vision.
And the again and again
And again
Of perfecting so that,
Some moment,
Everything can go wrong and beauty will still rightly arise.
Working alone or -
In silence - side by side,
Toward impeccability.
Alone, at work - in love.
Everywhere else -
Except for fleeting, miraculous moments of serendipitous connection -
Punching a clock.
Struggling to be courteous until I can run home to the open and the empty,
Dive back into the deep-currented dark ocean where the work of shaping swims.
I want to be there more than I want to be with anyone.
But not instead.