trying to recapture the

wet mark/ the

red flowers/

the thread

that still loves,

wrapped around the bedside

in a complicated

gold

the metallic temperature of

street lamps

catching

breath

outside

against the black sky

the lit window

dragging its pavement square

like a clenched fist

for weeks,

for months.

a taste of blood / a piece of paper

continual gravel

results in dirty,

broken

feet.

rain is about the tenderest moments.

a kiss & a kiss & a kiss & a kiss

between the sky

& the ground.

water

is a method

of affection.

your objective is to go stand out

in the storm

& don't come back

until your head is soaked in it.

in

kisses

& kisses

& kisses

& kisses

every one

from the sky.

think bright rain

over flowers

in the desert. i brew their

dried sisters in a cup

& taste a fragment

of slumbered sunlight

as the morning mist

departs. we're all moment-catchers,

in our way. sometimes lost

between the earth

& the sky

& our minds. what fresh dream

can we create

today. what spirit

waits on the back porch

to sit beside us,

curved spine & gravel toes

& eyes deeper

for every year that passes.

what will you call upon

to pass these winter months?

Subterranean self/ cigarette rust & precious stones/ seraphim

come in/ carrying

moonstone &

ruby.

The moon's halo gets

brighter/ I want to honor every

cream-colored sentiment

I own. Dirty-glasses/ silvered

rings round

many fingers.

The art comes when you don't think/

you just feel. & scarlet

teaches bone

how to become.

Here is your oracle:

within. Let's build a home

out of earth.

Your freckles

are everywhere you've

jumped in puddles

& the water remembered falling from the sky/ learned

to paint like rain.

Emotion

must fall

in order to nourish

what grows.

if tonight the moon shines like it's the only thing alive

on this earth//

in the silence between lunar breath//

would you unfurl your little arms//

break up through the soil//

& compose it a song?

i. if you want to speak in fresh rivers/

step one

is breathe.

ii. you will start

finding your magic

again.

iii. somewhere, there are

angels whisper-songing*.

iv. your chest

will start to glow gold,

if you want it to.

*so you know: yours can look

however you wish,

mold their wings

& they will fly.

may crescendo.

you blaspheme

in the shower/

ache in alizarin.

in this caulked fiberglass glade

we pummel

our poetry

out.

Turn the carpet

into a bed of stars. Rest your feet

in the cosmos, swirl the galaxies

gently.

Whisper more dance

into the universe. Turn the sun violet

in the thirty minutes before dawn

& give colors voices

to sing with.

Run ladders down from the clouds,

build peaceful villages

we can climb to

when things become too much

way down here.

Remind the world

of its gentleness. Set one truly magic moment

within every day

where every creature

is taken breathless by beauty.

Turn dreaming

into sharper reality. Give all of the poet souls

ways to make life from their art

the same way

their art makes life

from marks upon pages.

Save the young souls

growing backwards. Show them a crystal ball

in which life blooms

once more. Heal

with one touch

of hope & kindness. Breathe future

back into this place. Breathe wonder

back into this place.

Breathe wonder

back into this place.

The unknown is

-

--

-

& we're all tethered to our own unknowns

walking, running, dancing, fighting--

ankle to ankle,

wrist to wrist.

Flashlights pointed towards their faces, or

where we think their faces are,

if they even have faces (?)

like ours

& we're asking them endlessly

what they are.

Have you ever sat in a dark room

alongside your unknown

& just let it be,

just let it whisper softly

til it blooms to some sphere of light

& names itself?

perhaps not always the fitting key,

but ask your unknown

if this is what it needs.

i watch the sun run down the face of the day/

soft butterfly wings resting on the cliff of change/

silent waiting space between the grasshopper’s legs.

here’s what the red rocks brought the heat lightning prayer

the tumbleweed spine, the thing the rainbow-seekers revere:

a concept

of better revolutions.