Driftwood Amongst an Open Field

Ardor or Orphic
What wheat has become
A blanket for a beating heart?
Not rushed but suddenly
Sewn in this

Sweet cacophony of impertinent rhythm

What roses, mad and pure,
In mid-efflorescence hide playfully
Amongst flax-strung tongue figurines such as these?
Effort wrought brought stars to skin
A celestial proposition in Morse Code
Blinking with summer’s language
Batting eyelashes light up saccharine
Skies of humid veneration

And the gardens before us,
In all their fervor
Cast heat deep into Evening’s cerulean ocean
And the gardens before us,
In all their fervor
Cast heat deep into Evening’s cerulean ocean,

And our bodies reflexive
Rippled and dissipated in a breeze
Of delicate liqueur almost as if
We were nothing at all all along

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1,2,3,4

So come with me sunflowers
Masquerade yourselves in cloaks of humid forgetfulness

A hand a petal a liqueur
Sweet and welcoming find what truth hiding
Amongst locations left unknown:
Along shorelines littered
With millions organic mirrors,
Where are we in these grains of sand?
Slowly digging further into out of habit
Maybe out of hope
Are we trying to feel more
Trying to feel all the minute interpretations
Of our own existences at once?

Leaving nothing to chance
Collapse waves beckon wheat forevers
Come with me sunflowers,
We’ll dream restlessly
Waste days away entranced by sleep fever hazes
Wander stubbornly stuck near bloom
Rotating from season to season
Water to wine reason to reason,
What light shines on a single moment-
Dusty windowpanes revealing a rainbow of colour,
What truth is there when a minor shift in perspective
Reveals so much more,
How can we possibly persist in not knowing truly,
What we are?

Sunflowers bright and safe
I’ll admit that this life is lost upon me,
Your company brings comfort
A warm blanket to cover this cowering frame,
Under shade your body an umbrella
Sipping sweet and welcoming,
What truth
What truth
Falling asunder settling to horizon
Sunshine sediment falling,
Falling away
Our shadows merged together,

I felt at peace

(“Where Have You Been?”) I Never Left

Rye the western bank
Washes amber-set embankments
Scrubbing ears and eyes as a honey bee does,
Weave clearance with post-impressionist swampland
A few drops of  pollen can be an incredible addition
Bramble bushes blushed dove-like
Quivering candle wax analogies river reveries
Into the night voices flowing
Saturated with glass then sand
Eventually decay and underbrush blooming abundant
With blood poppies, to find beauty in going unnoticed
A whisper of nectar slipping through fingertips
Slithering ever casually amongst crevasses of foliage
Sinking gracefully into the mouth
Roaming without pause or thought,
This small pocket of cimmerian bliss
Remains so obviously in sight

About A Close Space

It feels
Good to breathe, to sit
Back fall into an embroidered nest of wild
Flowers, periwinkle and dandelion
Sip nectar as if the butterflies in this
Stomach have grown tired of latakia
Bonfires and rye
Sweat lodges, merely a vessel
For the prosperity of these feelings
I am nervous but my,
Exhaling before a field
Of vision entranced in kaleidoscopic
Constellation, this seems just
Right