My slide into your arpeggio
Seemed so steep at the top of that summit
I’d climbed so furiously,
Tugging and pushing and levering
A large, round stone, so
Worried by the chance that I might
Stand on gravel too long or lose my grip–
Upon reaching that peak, I looked about an ocean
Spread in all directions, sweeping sideways
From this point of view, so pointalistic
That a single man in those waves
Would become a pixel in my mind-screen.
The eyes should not be so open on the sea,
The unchecked waves snaking so violently.
Those eyes should not be so
Salt-stung and spray-blinded.
My heart is the wave-song,
The weeping tide,
The whisper of wayward winds over still waters.
If the blowsy breezes billowed sails and hoop skirts,
Perhaps they would touch your cheeks,
Rosy from the cold and chill-chapped lips
As fog-breathing darkness
Descends into the silent, snow speckled midnight
And I alight upon the doorstep to souls
To sleep in deep, burning fires.
If these words could caress in tenderness,
Perhaps my soft sighs would be enough
To tease time, TARDIS-style,
Into a concave kaleidoscope
To capture the image of your smile in the moonlight
And focus that light into a thin beam
Strong enough to slice steel.
But no! My Zephyrs sing swishing, swinging
Songs to frolic in shirt folds,
Lift locks into tangles,
And fling snowflakes streaming
Like sunlit moments of simply being
So very alive that your illumination
Interweaves a lattice in sky-domes to
Protect the ocean, the heartstrings.
She is who I keep locked deep,
But sharing seems less frightening with your eyes
On mine because you see me totally.
Because you seem to get the beat
That comes from my sacred svadisthana,
A jolt of Jerico for all
Poised and waiting for drums to be heard
And walls to fall.
The day I spoke of visions,
I must have called one, righteous, ready
Because the ocean offered a visitation,
A re-creation standing on a time-crest,
Oceana overwhelming, she, the inner Druidic
Summoner, the mistress who guards the third eye,
She pulled aside the veil,
And I viewed a vista verdant with foliage
And you stood in my valleys.
Your dawns awaken trembling earthquakes,
And sea urchins shake with the oracular.
That wild priestess avoided devastation,
And I returned to reality,
But the touch of Apollo’s fingers
Always leaves her gasping for the breeze,
Trembling, and drained.
This waking dream overtook her, and
Her bones would have broken under much more pressure.
You touched the sun-shared realistic,
Her lips trembled at your light and lingering caress
With fingers, and with words
That tunneled across countless timelines
And etched star-patterns into my retinas
As I sank to my knees, overrun with an alternate,
An alternating version of the real.
The Seer could not stand against the intensity
Of that unstaunchable flow.
All slept beneath our surfaces.
With saintly slave-play and sweeping embraces,
I met pleasure and pain linked
On this side of infinity.
I tasted you, your semen, your blood,
And I ran my fingers through sweat to feel your ribs benath your skin.
I took a microscopic journey,
Immersing my consciousness into your veins,
Moving toward the heart,
And I took moments to examine your neurons to see
If they matched the structure of my universe.
I watched you planting
In earth with loam and peat
So dark and deep. The earth accepted your touch,
And the gentle handling of a seedling brought my smile
Before I bent to help.
I listened to you speak histories
To the children, with
All our faces shining bright in firelight
Against the black of the night.
I stood and pointed out the constellations,
Connecting pinpricks into vision and tales
And the children learned star-lore.
I watched the destruction,
Countless worlds and eons and wars
As they tore societies asunder,
And I knew that past like the back of your hand
Against my side in the depths of midnight.
I taught you to expand limits,
And you taught me to love with all of me,
So I was violently afraid.
The last time I was with you,
I stood for the People.
You loved me.
You stood for me.
So.
I know I am in your debt.
And with that, the vision ended.
I was so awesomely caught up in that maelstrom
That I did not know where to start–
–But I’ll begin by telling you that
I probably just imagined the whole thing.
You know, sleepiness, neurons misfiring,
Maybe a bit too much cannabis, etcetera.
Still, I clung so long to that expectation,
Struggled so to make it true.
Now, I let that go with a silent sigh
Because visions are only shadows
Painted against cave walls,
And my eyes are open not to illusion
But to my own possibility.
