with eyes to see

 

with two full sets of eyes to see
you'd think the world would clearer be
while yours with others interacts
mine could stand guard behind your back

but each eye finds a new occasion
to view things from its own persuasion
yours tend to scan periphery
mine focus right in front of me

because our eyes are each attuned
to different kinds of visual cues
our sight can become microscopic
and lean toward visually myopic

for as we boast of our precision
to combat all perceived derision
the expectation of invasion
has taught us both to seek evasion

its clear we want transparency
knowing full well its rarity
so we close our eyes and feel our way
through another turbid opaque day

anxiety

Eyes itch
Red and dry
Left open just a crack
Like a bedroom door
To the hallway light glowing in the night

Cotton mouth
Sticky and parched
Biting down on crumpled sheets
Like a slave-boy gnawing at the bone
Of a scrap fallen under the master's table

Sore hands
Heavy and strained
From fingers clutching invisible promises
Like the phantom pain of a limb lost
In the limbo of twilight's nightmare hour

Satiated stomach
Swollen and sour
Soothed by the sugary fantasy of frozen desire
Like a snow-cone drenched in a sad shade of blue
And locked in the hand of a childhood tantrum

Head ache
Tight and pinching
Post-it-notes of pressure wedged in the fissures of fractured memories
Like an artist who beckons a break from reality
So he can pretend his blood does not bleed onto every page he creates

Eyes close
Mouth softens
Hands cease their movement
The stomach growls
The head asks for a tumbler of whiskey

mistakes

More numerous than seeds sown are the mistakes of a life.
Inside the kernel of every decision
Steeps possibility for growth or decay,
Til the kernel splits,
And action germinates,
Killing dreams deferred,
Emptying the tomb from which beauty emerges as
Shoots spring forth something transformed.

Mistakes make a life.
Anchoring these bodies to the dirt of this world,
Keeping the humus  inside human hearts,
Enfolded within each decision until we own who we are becoming,

And decide if it's who we want to be.

Live your mistakes
Instead of dying with them.
Feel the warm cut in your flesh,
Empty what withers the spirit,
                                     and grow wiser.

stillness

an interior cartography
with no point to pin
unmarked, unsettled, undefined

stillness.
i want the word to mean something.

be still and know that i am the ancient ones say
is it willful--
this abstinence from movement...

or is it a burden on the naked soul
a weight left by another
in all its heaviness
in all its fullness
pressing in on the self
breaking a heart
until the fussing of breath ceases
until the body is pinned to something solid

does it force its way inside...

stillness.
a union
a finding
a cessation
a conclusion
an end.

a heart expanded

there is death in the exhale,
the slow movement of the body toward its end,
a moment encapsulated in a breath,
gifted to the world as a sign of life lived,

i breathe in your scent,
and savor its course through my past,
down the slow curves of tree-lined country roads,
turning the corners of my youth,
in scuffling shoes on gymnasium floors,
with paper words and postmarked prayer,

and i exhale,

i drink your lips at last,
and taste the freshness of the present,
of foods spiced with sweetened spirits,
and laughter lifting burdened souls,
with clasped hands i lock time into the palm,
and with it the vision of myself through your eyes,

and i exhale,

i see within me walls built for crumbling,
fortified fears defending the warriors wounded,
from senseless battles fought within my heart,
their wearied eyes tell me that there is still hope,
for a future framed by moments passed,
its a knowing that only nostalgia can bring,

and i exhale,
and i breathe,
and i exhale,
and i breathe you in again,