Do not let the sunsets pass quietly
those hues will not stay
the reds and yellows and purples
will melt into recession
dripping in tranquil nightfall.
Do not let the couples and lovers
chat in unnoticed companionship
the souls and masses and families
continue to prove to us
loving sprouts in those needed cracks.
Do not let the planes fly by
without thinking of its passengers
the lost and travelers and coming home
drink deeply from a sea
glistening in perception and imagination.
Within the innate dissatisfaction
blossoms these endless wonders,
bathe in them,
hold onto them,
until the noticing
crystalizes into radiant impenetrability
while we gloriously
The other day she slid her feet
into cool soft sand and listened,
to a lighthouse whisper its wisdoms
into the crashing ebb of waves
showing through stalwart radiance:
How to weave a quiet serenity
in the moments of solitude
and vast wild openness,
How to be the only structure
in an endless sea of blue
and find substance there,
How to truly inhabit one’s self
in such a voracious authenticity
and beacon that light out to others,
So she wrote that light house
a thank you in the sand then watched
as high tide carried that gratitude
to the wise lighthouse.
In ancient Egypt,
Mesopotamia, and Greece
men would travel miles upon miles
to make a sacrifice
(some crops or a first born)
all in the hopes
of seeing a sun goddess:
their silken skin glistening,
like it’s made of gold
I just have to take a trip downtown,
make a more contemporary sacrifice
of chai latte
and wonderful conversation
then just like that,
I experience my own sun goddess
for just a few precious hours:
Shinning bright enough
to make the sun look dim.
A sweetness big enough
to make skyscrapers look small.
A brilliance so luminescent
that I wonder if the evening light
journeyed from her eyes
before pouring out
onto the city’s sacred streets.
then just as beautifully,
just as swiftly,
the sun sets
and my goddess leaves
but I’ll only smile …
because my world will be that much brighter
for the next few days.
she is the summer’s sun
shinning life on spring blossoms
warming slow winter hearts.
She is a hundred thousand miles
stretching around the horizon
then sprawling atop my chest.
Some days glow dim
mourning their solemn overcasts.
Yet the sunlight through thin drapes
revives in me a certain faith
that I’ll one day know:
the rhythm of her heart beat,
which so sweetly sings a tune
to the silence between moments.
the beauty in all her precious moods,
when she dances on wood floors
or cries into my stained collar.
the bliss in her dreams,
when there is too much hope
in her cup of morning coffee.
Yes my love,
is the summer’s sun
a beacon of light
I walk towards her
The green will grace us,
we will taste summer air.
We will feel a warmth
more calm and real
than that which frosts
with passing winters.
The sun will touch us
kissing our forehead
brightening our hair
beckoning flowers from the dirt.
Yes this green will emerge
surrounding us in thin symphonies
gently rocking nylon arms
which cradle weary souls.
For summer, my loves,
The green will grace us again.