Wednesday, June 26, 2013

Sparrow's Song



We squander our breath on useless details
burning seconds and hours and days
away from the language of love and beauty.

Touch my heart so gently.
Breathe for me.
Ghosts speak to me.
There’s no need for all this

Friction.

Once a sparrow sang to me
A melody.
A mystery.
Breathe for me, sparrow.
Breathe for me.
Ghosts speak to me.
Cry so gently for all this

Friction.

We rise from the ashes on the backs
Of our ghosts.
Their tones are black and white.
They sang their songs of right,
Harmonious in their time-
avoiding  all

Friction.

Cry, sparrow, cry.
I choose friction.

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

My Whole Universe



No one asked me if you could leave
or if I ever needed you.
Control is an illusion.
I learn this; I am young.
Your absence is an animal
of subtraction and frenzy
locked in a cage while
people point and stare.
Will she fall in the bottle?
He does not raise her,
Not enough room in a brown bottle
for more than one.

But I rise like the sun
even if blurred by clouds
of self-doubt and despair,
and sometimes I am the moon
reflecting my own bright light.
My mother, my brothers
and the man I call my dad,
they are my earth, my world
and collectively, my sun.
Our gravities push and pull.
We are globes of light and warmth
sustaining life against all odds.