comfortable ache

i've gotten used to the heartbreaks
the semi-frequent reminders of you
now they are a part of my day
the new way my heart beats

lens of god

at the stretches / vast edges of the universe
touching blurry cusps of existence
life wriggles from behind a telescope
and sits down at the desk
to write. in this moment
evidence of a beauty
(who has gone
away.)
	bending with the curve
of time. the secrets of the moon.

ruined

if the house
if you live in the house
or condo
or hut
or tent
or street
(because, we all once
came from the house)


if
the house
burnt down

what would you remember?

what

would keep you on the verge

of
tears

what

would keep you from spilling
and
poring
for answers

what

pile of ash
would be your

           family  portraits
           grandpa's violin
           christmas cards
           head tax receipt

lost belongings.
proof  of  life.
proof  of
belonging.

what would be left
if the A-frame closed in
on itself,
if dad could not save the roof
with a hose

if water
lost

to flame


would
the sidewalk
bare ashen prints
?


or
would
thebroken lot
bear ferns & grass. & seeds.
&vines
&thorns &twigs &trees,

your
ruins &
flowers

Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the
landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home
again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting- over and over
announcing your place
in the family of things.

i cannot feel it (like you do)

i
told
you    this
loss was like my own

only:

that's not true,

i have not been through the deep hollow grooves
of infinite sorrow,
Not swam under the darkest seas
looking for
lost love,


i am without scar tissue
where my chest had been,
trying to squeeze into that nothingness

no,
chilo,

i am only a witness, an onlooker, a bystander

and though i feel for you
put my words and hands out to hold your pain,

i
can
not
feel it

like you do.

the closer i get (no end and no beginning)

i look at you from
      across     the room
because it is
	     easy

everything is perfect from
far away
but the closer i get
the less

i can pick out those ugly things
i imagine
        for

when you walk out of this room
		(my mind)

can find a peace

which will substitute for the fear
of your freedom to leave
and i'll hold a love with no end
                 and
no beginning.