The Sea’s Birthday

Almost,

like      fish dreaming
like      Alexander Graham Bell
like      the wind’s caprice

beating haircut directions, scattering DNA strands
in the cool of the universe.

Like     cinnamon stirred in coffee
             charred by Time

I came,                spaceshipping my voices
rifting, shifting the pen like a dress             atramental.
     

Almost,

like      the armless masseuse, stormchasing gone
like      a gypsy in a loveful
like      the neck’s carillons

flooding signifiers with that wistful tinkerer in each of
us, memory.

Like     the irony of love in the city
             expressed in velocity

you came,                      intergalactic poetry
bluing crevices on the ground of mare      nights.
     

I got punched and I bled life.

And yet
the sea’s birthday is everyday and
you were my wife time
enough for me to know the value of a poplar tree
in August and the name
of fire.

It rains on the bed
and you hold onto me crablike
is my body expatriate
of all meaning?

Steal me
in the dead of the night
undress me
under chancels and escutcheons private

on the churches over your breath
nest me,           religious
under your fingers’ whirlpools
churn me,       translated.

Love me phonetic.


Elite light that radiates
from the bodies of bees

like a panoply
you are

in the morning’s
controversy;

in the linguistics
of touch

I’m
the horizon.


Kandinsky - Blue Painting

Kandinsky – Blue Painting