I return to my city,
search in the cafe La Alameda,
the young hand holding a wine glass,
his gaze distant and profound.
I return to my city
where every adolescent resembles
the one I knew so well but never
knew,
nor understood the consuming flame
burning his wings of moth,
his difficulties untying knots from
strings holding back his grasshopper
legs,
while being propelled by fire.
I return to my city,
cross a whole ocean to hear
his voice in the evening news,
a local station commenting on his
work,
those documentaries of life in
Africa,
savannah, desert, lakes, wilderness,
his love for open skies, and I
remember
exactly when those fraying cords were
cut
on that summer night
when I said, I couldn’t be sure,
perhaps it wasn’t love, but plain
desire,
and you said that desire was never plain.
Love Matter
I
believe in science
one
steps out of the blue
sphere
of narrow perspectives
borders
disappear into dust motes
of
cosmic choreography.
It’s
impossible not to acknowledge
how
small and equal we are
what
nurtures us must feed
the
planet’s rhythmic breath;
selfishness
is a genetic error.
Science
reveals Love’s creativity,
its
oxygen causes history to combust,
connect,
fill every crack of life
behaving
just like Dark Matter
that
95% of mass we cannot see.
Subtly
it affects us, shapes
Galaxies,
holds them in place
by
a gravitational field engineered
by
what we cannot understand,
Love
Matter.
Love
Lines
He
lay down,
you
can touch,
he
whispered.
The
cold stars gazed down
from
their dark dome
pedaling
their tricycles
farther
away.
He
was warm
and
close.
Like
a moth
I
got too close.
My
wings
singed
to their roots
smell
of ashes preceding
the
smoked mind
my
eyes could not see.
In
the end
it
wasn’t satori
but
sati.
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