the first time i left

the first

time I left the Earth

i feared my life

in the gaping open

the second time

I left the Earth

I felt the separation of

isolation. I split several atoms

the third time

I left the Earth

I did not miss you

and did not want to return

the fourth time I

left the Earth

I tried

to take you with me

but

you refused to come

the fifth time

I left the Earth

I begged forgiveness

from the trees

and they cried

the 6th time I left

the Earth I did

not sing

and no one heard

the 7th time I left

the Earth

I took a handful

of soil

and promised to return.

 

 

contour map of abstractions

what is this
love
that coats all
my surfaces like
the smell of aging summer
in an evening
frisked by bees promenading
in the heatfolded cat
mint and decided by
a new moon to be a
seedbearer for the
thickening night sky there
is no romance
in this love but a
generosity of lust that
the force of life
drives through our
parameters resting between
heartbeats to allow us
to catch our
breath but slamming in
again before the Ego has
time (only the Ego has time) to think
of a new excuse
to not be the tawnycrust
grasses or sharpetched
hills or the neverending
skies or, least of all,
the rain forming its
contour map of
abstractions.

will you hang

will you hang

your squarefaced

sadness – the sadness of abandonment –

on the peg as you walk

in the door each evening

or will you give it away to

the neighbour’s dog that

watches you walk by

with sharpfaced forgiveness on

its face?