a passing moment gone

you are the dark sky of the morning

serious and slow

you shave, you dress

you descend the stairs in your public clothes

and walk out the door, you become

the wise and powerful one

that makes all days possible

in the miraculous sky full of planetary charts

guarding my bed, my projectory, oh

my deva, you are also the red

sorrow that pounds though me

like my own blood.

 

i have no way to explain

myself but I feel and

it comes to grasp it's grip

about my throated grief and gratitude

I have words

I am not allowed to use, when I feel it

it feels chorused and loud, it pours

from me (like the seed from the sparrow

the hawk, the wren who flew higher than

that preyful bird and won) my eyes and my mouth

and from between my toes

the taste of ______ I tremble it

like spanish guitar, finger posings

on my frettings, memories

of what'd you call them? Other

blessings. I wasn't ready really

till now.  such a series of gifts

undulating across my fiery corpses;

I feel alone the weight and shape

of this sun in my belly, burning

away the hiding places.

  

I ask you

with a full gaze, please

do not pass by me likewise

in aloof overcoats, that is

do not misunderstand me, I am

an open hearted pearly tongue

the rush of berries or a winter

rage, I have always leveled with you,

my pure as the driven snow esteem;

barely a woman at all, broken

measured, my meter trips

me up, catches my lips like

your teeth might have, I am torn

between being wholly (holy)

open like a manic wind and

and only available to show you

my goodliest things, the bright stars

only and saying farewell

before tears, in time to the, yeah

I cry when I hear the right country songs.