This idea of me alone, comes from the same place of lack as this idea of me with someone else. 

I am always this iteration of self creating this self as it is, enacting this self as is with others. 

This self as me an individual. This self as oneness with others. 

Me. You. I. Us. 

Always. 

All-together. 

There is never a lack of Us. 

through all the interims,
the befores,
and afters,
and in-betweens,
I fill my heart with thoughts of you,
like arrangements of flowers
decorating the long stretches of
waiting spaces.
Bursts of roses and many-petaled tulips,
fragrant lilies and soft sage,
crisp pine and purpled mint,
creamy jasmine and sunrays of forsythia,
the silk of wisteria
floating overhead like dreams
from the arching trellis of my
longing.

softly,
as the moonflower unwinds on a silvery night,
forgiveness opens.

glancingly,
it was given,
the most hurtful words you’ve ever heard.

unexpectedly,
from a hidden chrysalis,
emerges a golden butterfly.

This latest adventure brought home again the fact that my idea of a “vacation” is laughably, vastly far off from most people’s. Multiple days with lack of sleep, skipped meals, extremes of cold and heat, untold amounts of dirt on and in everything, up before dawn more mornings than even I’d prefer, marathon vigils of wakefulness and prayer, language barriers, questionably dangerous situations…and mixed in with all of that…discovering the indescribable beauty in people and places you’ve never seen before, finding your physical limits and pushing past them, hilarious sessions of storytelling, the excitement of the unknown, heartwarming connection with strangers I can’t even speak to, finding a sense of home in a new place, the refreshing awareness of every moment that the foreign brings, strengthening bonds of friendship and community, and the exhilarating promise of future adventures. 

Happily, joyfully, gratefully, I wouldn’t have it any other way.  

ochre red earth painting the underbellies of clouds pink
reaches of cottonwood
sighing in the whispering wind
the gentle thunder of a kitten herd punctuating dreams
Jesse Woods crooning
lush stands of lilac
smelling of the soft springs of my childhood
tiny bubbles of fear floating up from the calm deep
I have never become accustomed to being looked at
with such thirst

Clandestine kisses in the pizza aisle
eating great dark heart-shaped almonds without worry
like I can’t anymore
fires
so many fires
outside my window
and down the street
on cold dark drenched nights
smoke and steam rising into the spangled sky
shivering with the chill and being wrapped in downy warmth and spirited away despite objections
there was a child
a little monkey spirit
blonde-haired
I can’t recall the setting
and then sitting in the passenger seat
as the car accelerates down the soggy untouched hillside
on the clearing crisp morning
and rain
there was so much rain
it was all rainy
with the music of it filtering through the tall trees
and foggy clouds of it
prowling everywhere
like fleets of ships
from times gone past

Ahhhhh,
these missing rainclouds,
they are hiding in me.
I am filled from oceans
without end.

This bright flame
you smother in darkness,
why hide
from the world
it’s wondrousness?