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http://www.blurb.com/my/book/detai…

how do we move past the desolation of the past?
today i have this fierce longing for san clemente. for warmth. for my past.
i want to hug so hard. i want to cry so deep and release this clench on my heart. i am thankful to be alone in the house now. everything feels so difficult and heavy.

if we could make-believe everything was right,
and the scribbles on the pages could indicate our
creativity rather than our foul-ups, would you
remember me when the day darkens?
when your head meets the pillow and you start
to dream thick, like a heavy curtain that descends,
let your only last word be my name,
a song on your lips that reminds you
of purple fields and wakening beauty itself at dawn.

& sometimes family--they only like you when they
can fit you in a box. otherwise, you're a nuisance.

conditional love.

i'm tired.

i took a walk
down the street and found at least
a dozen staircases leading to the celestial villages below.
among the trees. Mirador, Forest Light, Foxes' Fire .
each place burns into my memory eye like summer
through an magnifying glass.
i remember trying so hard last night to feel them,
their secrets, and not being able to.
today though, they are beheld in one tiny glimmer of light
called this moment, this day. hope catches me by the string
& i am hooked.

the heart forms and sheds its many layer;
heart like stone, then rock, then sand,
running through your fingers. pulse of a
runner. slowing down when i remember the
taste of what was never there at all.
did you need to be with me at all?
i shocked my heart diving into the cold sea.
wheezed all over. then, calm and
floating. mesmerized by the gentle tide.

things shake beneath me and the unbreakable breaks. i have tried to understand the wild, wild river. i have tried to grasp its ends and its beginnings. but, like water through the fingers, it cannot be held. i can only cup it in my hands for a few moments, i can only drink, i can only swim. i want to move where the light bends backwards. i want to swim with you, not away from you. cold scandinavian mystery, i ache for you.

sleep creeps under my eyelids to shut them, longingly. and i, wrestling the shutters, stop a moment to hold my ear to the forest voices behind my house. i gather all these sounds and feelings like seashells in a pocket, like memories worn smooth over years by constant recollection. it has been a great ride, pitfalls and peaks, it has been a unfathomable ebb of weariness and strength. when you sing, i follow the way your mouth moves to the point where i forget the words, sometimes the sounds, but never the feeling of your breath in the room, formed within a cage of lungs & wanting to be free. harps and chords, harpsichords, happenstance, hold-me-stance, and all else that we forgot we always wanted.

find myself alone in an empty house. alone, and feeling v. much so.
a tad emptier than the day before.

i'm not sure exactly what to talk about here, but i feel the need to write with some clarity & to flush this thing out. the naming of the thing is an important step. attempt #1: it is the company i long for. the company of the spirit kind. where i can feel how and in what cadence a heart beats because mine beats the same rhythm, if only to come into rhythm with another's. attempt #2: this circuitous road i'm on towards a certain dream, somehow, is better than the straight path. i hate to say it, because i am an impatient creature, and lacking maturity. i ask are you building something in me? a most definite yes. attempt #3: i ache in unknown tongues. my gut wants to shout but it only makes my face crumble. if i have ever longed for the night, it was because i desired the new morning.

there has also been an obsession lately to be the pushing factor, after soaking up so much information, and time, and conversations. this is an attempt at pushing into the world, making the clay mold to my fingers instead of them being molded by everything.

Steady under his gaze
War arrives like a molten course.
He stands trembling underneath
Weight of glory and suffering
to come. Each step led to this blood-soaked
field, birthed from choices of centuries, but
holding above one common feature:
constellation maps imprinting their
deepest shadows on Earth’s surface,
on the souls of men.
“I have felt for you.” The claim,
the righteous pledge, the morning
beneath armor. Portions to gather,
portions to sow into wind. “Darling,
every arrow has come from you.”
The wind carries its seeds wherever
Choosing. Some have felt the sting,
a burning beneath skin,
Much more than others. He stands
Ready, though trembling.