How was it that your skin and my skin got wrapped up in these melodies. Vibrations. Incantations and memories. I can feel you now, closer. Can you feel me too? We look to the sky as if it holds our meaning. You are like a ladybug living in the creases of a door jamb, who may not ever know the full breadth of the sky. Still we wonder why. With your look and my hook we fall back into each others skin, drifting, to our own rhythms. Still, the way forward is back and we’re always trapped, trapped, trapt. Still. Your eyes and my lies are like oceans of sky and we are creators of clouds and rain and mountains of waves. Leave. Don’t leave me. Bleed. Don’t need me. I do not get lonely, I am lonliness. I hold you in my caress and it’s always me me me. Leave, but don’t leave me.
And your body is the harp of your soul,
And it is yours to bring forth sweet music from it or confused sounds.
And the wind and pine combine to whistle a melody, but what of that melody if there were no ear to hear ?
and what is the mind, but the engineer of the body’s will
The above quote: Khalil Gibran from The Prophet pg. 81
When I woke up this morning immediately words repeating.
sat up and looked over at my two girls sleeping in bed with me.
my words are like food to fill the soul, the heart.
that time, remember, you drifted through the crowd with purpose and ease. You saw every way forward, every crease. With only one aim in your heart: to feel the music. Toward the thumping speakers you drift, beating with the rhythm that held your whole body together, held the earth in place. Holy melodies shook thunder from the dome-sky. All you wanted was to feel it, coursing through your entire body, like aching desire. And there was no stopping you. Remember? the sweet release.
(it’s like that)
We went to dinner, which apparently is what everyone else does on an ordinary weekday night. We sat in a booth, my daughter and wife across from me.
Dad look. Dad look,”pointing passed me.
a bald guy!you know, I say, some day I could be bald.
But I don’t want a bald father!
there’s always love available. our job is to find it. when we are stuck looking for where its not we won’t find it. only when we commit ourselves to finding the love that’s available, even in impossible situations, will we be able to find it.
Some trees are already bare, and the leaves that remain, may well remain until next year. When a breeze ripples the giant sequoias, they whisper to each other the lost ancient name of loss and pain
—My love, are you awake?
and the dog down the street sounds the trumpet, and the oboe in the moon soaked starless sky whirs from far to near to far
How I Know
Lately I’ve noticed
her noticing the ex-
pressions on my face
when I read to her at
night. She watches my
face almost as closely
as the pictures on the
page. She un-scrunches
my scrunched-up fore-
head and smiles at my
smile. Is this trans-
mission? I think so.
This is how I know