Early Morning in a Parisian Sky

Ah, so this is how it is, to be God?

Surrender my eyes down on to the clouds,
their brilliant heads, birthright of the Angels.
Being chased infinitely by waters
who jealously reflect the truth of my
skies, who jealously upskirt my cloud's sex.

"Give us rain!" they cry. "Descend to our form!"
"Fill us up, then we will Love you!" they lie,
swelling the more with each honey-dropped kiss.
Consuming the lover of my dear Sky.

Swallow the Earth. Give Nothing Back. The Sun
will play the thief, restore what I create.
You will feel his heat blister your surface.
You will curse me and wish you had the hands
to reach up, feel the cloud's thick-heated thigh
that the sun warmed with his glorious rays.

You forget, I see all the wrong that you do.

Yet though stars & moon brush against my face
from this great bird's eye, I can't help wonder
what it is you see from your point of view.

Black and Smooth

In Praise of Rain

Love Sonnet to the tune of a detuned violin

The first time I didn't see God,
—His hair unkempt like busted nylon strings—
I determined to write him an aubade
for fear I wouldn't not see him again.

Though arose a second occasion
(the first time I'm able to not hear his voice
(perfectly detuned like an unbalanced equation)),
I refrained from gift-giving by reverent choice.
He passed me by inside an earthquake.
My aubade: ashes&dust at first sign of daybreak.

Then the third (He graces my shoulder (left) each footstep
a looped clip of a hundred dropped pencils), I realize
how man cannot compute what's so
beautifully irrational and holy disorganized.

O To Abide By Myself an ode to slumber

breaths I can't hear
(nor feel) but see
by shuttered eyes:
crystallized, but
in summer eyes;
summarized
smokes and dyes.
Light intervenes
and I realize, but

steal half-hours
here, then there
like plucking raspberries
from foster patches
where unbridled thorns
gnash tips of flesh.
Still, I can't be kept
from bruised tenderness.

And Light intervenes
here, then there
until I realize
the breaths I can't hear.
I gasp
stretch blood into muscle
paralysis
wishing Light hadn't intervened
that the world wasn't ending,
and for bruised raspberries
I could keep.

Only Stars Out Elegy + Pantoum

Earthen color
displaced the white of her eyes
when her cheeks rose, her lips curled, and
I was

displaced. The white of her eyes—
the only stars out that night.
I was
looking down to see

the only stars out that night.
The clouds were thick,
looking down to see
what my memories withered into.

The clouds were thick
when her cheeks rose, her lips curled, and
what my memories withered into:
earthen color.