Solitude, How You Serenade Me With Your Silence.

All lights are fireworks Since we made permanent July. Whether sunshine Or warm showers My rain, my sky, It's a permanent July.

In these darker days Bloom yellow roses I've grown for you In secret gardens. Still I can't explain just why Each new month is still July.

Your earth is warm, It melts my snow, My rocks and stones Make roads for you. Sit with me, watch all pass by, In our private, permanent July.

Poetry is just as visual As any other form of art.

The punctuation, the spacing, The length and width In the breaking of lines,

Thoughtful Arrangement Of words

Matters.

It matters as I am painting with letters.

It's part of the picture, The texture of poetry Is flowing, flowing.

Do you see? I ask,

D o  y o u  s e e  m e a n i n g?

You come into the room Hair damp and spiked From the bathwater The towel around you Such a stark white In contrast to the ink That covers your body

You look at me with Those fierce, devouring Spanish eyes, te amo I did not believe until Now but you are my love Here, at first sight Keep me in this room With our paint and canvas Who is the artist and Who is the muse?

I forget myself as We ride through nights That never really end The moon ever brighter Warning us to stop We do not listen

Be done, untouch me I knew I would end up In your bed again, Again with your radiance Your harsh light Your brilliant mind That races ever forward With no finish line

I vanished and you Still search for me Your low voice like a Home, like a tempting Warmth, maybe it is The memories you want

You are the active Volcano I build a house Upon, and you erupted And we were burned away Ending the way we Began, so suddenly En ardiente deseo Nothing more than fire

Your neck is a canvas For the brush of my lips Wondering if we ever Had a chance at innocence A roguish glance as We walk towards the church My hand tugging you Down the blustering Sidewalk of fluttering Freshly dying leaves

We stroll side by side With familiar ease A lifetime's worth Of rising, setting suns You wear my sweatshirt You smell like me And weave yourself into The fabric of my being Our love was never Just in the leaving

Climb up the steeple Ring the bell with me Summon the flock of sheep Do they know they Worship at our feet? In cold October mornings High above the chapel The two of us are no sin Up here on my knees I'll give you my sermon

Without reading any of my written words Is it possible to truly know me? Mind musings, soul serenades This feels like the only accurate, undiluted Version of my being

If you've never met my body Maybe you know me better than most Or maybe to know me is reading both Poetry being the translation of my body language Into my mother tongue

So I'll lay my words down delicately, intentionally Hoping you see them A dialect spoken just between us Yes, you would know me I think you could know me entirely this way

The winter cardinals Have finished their work Of raising wobbly chicks Into fierce and steady Juveniles, ready to Graze the sky with the Tips of their wings And soar off gracefully Away on their own breeze A fresh, solo journey

The parents are not Left behind, they are Quietly content, free To fly wherever they please The male a radiant scarlet And she such prominent earth Tones, the blazing yellow Of their beaks like Flames flying by on the Biting morning winds

The serene songbirds Mated for life, they fly Side by side, sharing One current of frigid air Wings spread out together As they glide in sync With nothing more to be Done, they settle in their Empty nest and sleep freely And warmly with each other

What is the usefulness Of regret? When the days and months Move ever forward And moments passed Are like photos, Some were not taken As well as others

There is a Transcendence in The letting go The long farewell to Yesterday's bowed head Presently washed clean, Hung out to dry In the ever persistent Cleansing of sun

Why wish for any decision To have gone another way? Would the lines On palms, in diaries Have brought us here If we made a choice With our head Not our heart Or simply on impulse?

The bones in my legs Are no bones at all They are leaden and heavy And it took me a long time To accept that I Needed some help just To learn how to stand

You ask me to walk Like it is easy Because everyone with Skin and muscle can do so Because though you may know The lead is not Visible to you And your understanding of me

So when you hang your head When you are short with me And I am trying to move And I am so tired And you are upset What else can I do But resign to apology?

Muse, I am holding on to you It is not desperate or clingy I hold you gently, with room to move Or without touching you at all

Your beautiful mind inspires me The way you see the world The convictions you hold I am mesmerized, captivated

I love you, it is obvious, so obvious I can't let go, I have tried Muse, I have tried and failed Over and over and over

All I can do is write you and keep you Do you mind? Are you upset? Tell me it is okay, these feelings I worry my pen is a sword to you

Winter comes to me As an old familiar friend Wrapping me up in its Dark nostalgia Its shadow arms holding Me gently in the day

Grey skies merge into White covered earth The blending of light Colors suddenly Fading into an Afternoon blackness

The cold is my comfort Its wind is a weathered Hand's gentle graze Slowly feeling my face Like winter is remembering What I feel like too