Saturday, November 6

Dancing With Her Shadows

Once upon a time she imagined love
like for real love
like the kind where you are held in liminal space of darkness and trust
and together are suspended within swirling shards of light
like prisms
like absorption
it all shatters into yesterdays and yesterdays crumble into years past and those years past drip into eons ago
its all just consumed by fire and spit out into the surging cosmic dance of everything and nothing

Its been a while
since she's been held
like for real held
seemingly from a time beyond those shadows of lights cast aglow
thrown down upon her from antiquated street lamps
like pacific northwest drops of rain clinging to her hair
she tiptoes out from between her lovers warm thighs
into those early misty morning moments of bicycle crossings
she's dancing across eerie city bridges

Maybe that's where it comes from
that longing to be seen
which is received like no other
she's relived of lonesomeness and longing
while her lover sleeps and dreams

Gathering the sum of theirstory
in a time of petrified wood and dinosaur bones
thoughts caress her with seismic nostalgia
bloodied fingers reminiscent of oceanic depths
pulled out from deep within the raw caverns of her body
now its him
and he's tiptoeing out of her early mornings into a dance of boundlessness known as zazen

Beyond black or white 
its beyond days and nights
of turning back clocks and calling it fall
of moonless nights in Scorpio
galaxies descending upon us in ways of light years
countless backhoes digger even deeper into this vagabonding soul

So while she sat there emboldened in that mirror
between the dancing flames of candlelight and self reflections

she began the recapitulation

But i wonder
what is it she is trying to fill exactly?
it is porous? sharp? tender? whole?

And what could he possibly have to offer that wouldn't be just like the others
that of tenderized, salted pulpy hearts and lies full of promise
hiding behind grandmothers in this desert-land of dancing balls of fire
falling low
on the western horizon
clouds obstructing sanity

She's learning to cultivate organic matter in ways she's never believed
and the voices sing her to sleep with dreams of morning tinder

"...Just grow yourself my darling dragon
just don't let them contaminate your soil
just keep a safe space in place of that recoil..."

And besides, who needs any of it anymore anyway when you got the milky way right outside your front door?

Disappearing now into this darkened new moon night
she's tap dancing across a river of magpies over a bridge of stars

Finding in her own kind of oceanic sunrise
a humbling sunset in the gleam of speckled brown eyes