The Smoke

You survive in them, they survive in you.
Separate strands of the same garment
gather to inter Gallen’s obedient Lady.
Enshrouded in watermelon roses and salt,

we now know how petals fall apart.
Our empty ears seek blips in the silence
and a consolatory voice’s frequency.
Revealed in a nebula of smoke,

three appeals are stuck in dry throats,
struggling to be acknowledged and answered.
But the book of bounty hides within our folds,
every last sentence…every last word.

Three Grains of Paradise

Three grains of paradise
remain in an abandoned
vessel, longing to be
summoned home.  Golden
brown edges caress
colorless fragments as eyes
await the epilogue.

Three grains of paradise
up in the air;
Father, Mother, Brother

Violent squalls water cotton
carnations.  Her tongue shall
not taste Inari’s holy harvest
even though hunger has come
to call.

On an unrelenting winter’s day,
three grains of paradise
covered in clay…

beneath that faithless sky (repost)

On the night we squeezed hands to say goodbye
the heavens were bruised so deeply
that I thought they wouldn’t heal.
Such a sky I shall never witness again.
The violet whispered of our memories.
The cornflower blue whispered of our sadness.
The indigo whispered of our fears.
The tangerine whispered of our hopes.
The coral whispered of our regrets.
The copper whispered of our pain,
and in those fretful moments before you
flew away into the blinding blackness
the scarlet wept in ecstasy of our love.
Our life, our sweetness, and our hope
do you now walk beneath that faithless sky?
And is there anyone more sorrowful than I?

I have never forgotten how the sky looked as my mother was slipping
away from us.  To witness such brilliance in a time of great loss and sadness
is a gift.