Early Poets

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We’ve loved since last time
Before we were born this time
I wrote on your skin

I wondered and then 
You touched my left eyebrow arch
While you moved magic

When you approach me
Be a poor storyteller 
Speaking crazy tales


Grace

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Should we ask the why
Why valleys, why the deserts
Will I feel fear then
And for what purpose, blood

These questions steal my joy
So I must not indulge
My bright green eyes have found
What they need to see

His nature, his nature
Where true, due North is Love
My compass mark it is
My whole heart holds fast here

It’s unknown how it’s so
My feet seem always falling
On paths unpaved and thistled
Somehow my soul it knows

I’ll see the thankful temples
I’ll have girls own big books
I’ll sail silent down black rivers
You’ll come with me Grace

is gold

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I’ve prayed glitter
For your path 
A pattern-spray that looks
Like plans had for you 
Before you graced this place
The underneath that is
Paved with acorns and amber oak leaves
Covered with new fallen snow

Boots

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What if the mirror told
I was no longer there
Taken, stolen, gone, away
Would you think to care

Would you put up
‘Lost Cat’ flyers
On tall trees 
From here to there

Would you seek me 
Desperate
For my marching
In your hair

If the warm winds took me
To pillows that allow
My sleepy and my crazy
Would you miss my meow

Tell whether you would fight the winds
For each of our nine lives
To bring me back, once and for all
And marry my green eyes