(no subject)
from july, 2009:
"what do you want from me?" you ask, as if
to god or the heavens, though your arms are not stretched to the sky,but wrapped around my shoulders like lowered sails wound about a mast.
to this i reply, with your breath like wind on the back of my neck,
"the rains have come heavy this year. oh farmers, oh fishermen,
my dear sweet carpenter. salt of the earth,"
this will be our story:
the monsoons have arrived a month early and on the wrong continent.
and what to come of these torrents?
before the storm came, the stars went out. now the water has risen,
our world awash, and the moon spins up into the night. stop there: the moon,
the moon! orange and ripe for harvest in the dark over deep deep waters,
suspended fruition-adrift, afloat and dreaming as you are.
you are both boat and beacon now-guide and vessel. and i,
well, i am neither moon nor water, nor boat nor passenger,
but the spirit in between-the liminal space, the catalyst.
i am that which pulls the waves, and reflects the moon
into your thirsty, bottomless eyes. i am not entity, but force.
and as such, i can want nothing from you but the energy that lies herein:
the mere instant between us, the gravity that aligns planets and pulls ships to shore,
nothing less than the moon.
"what do you want from me?" you ask, as if
to god or the heavens, though your arms are not stretched to the sky,but wrapped around my shoulders like lowered sails wound about a mast.
to this i reply, with your breath like wind on the back of my neck,
"the rains have come heavy this year. oh farmers, oh fishermen,
my dear sweet carpenter. salt of the earth,"
this will be our story:
the monsoons have arrived a month early and on the wrong continent.
and what to come of these torrents?
before the storm came, the stars went out. now the water has risen,
our world awash, and the moon spins up into the night. stop there: the moon,
the moon! orange and ripe for harvest in the dark over deep deep waters,
suspended fruition-adrift, afloat and dreaming as you are.
you are both boat and beacon now-guide and vessel. and i,
well, i am neither moon nor water, nor boat nor passenger,
but the spirit in between-the liminal space, the catalyst.
i am that which pulls the waves, and reflects the moon
into your thirsty, bottomless eyes. i am not entity, but force.
and as such, i can want nothing from you but the energy that lies herein:
the mere instant between us, the gravity that aligns planets and pulls ships to shore,
nothing less than the moon.