9/14/2015

so, I am waiting for fall. I have touched 
tenderness on this earth, have bowed
to it like a blackened lover forehead
dropped forward to the feet of a saint.
have cut off my feathers and mailed
them south. I cannot fly but still can
sing. the seas are made of tears. if I stop 
crying I cannot blame the desert for 
being dry. each leaf prepares to
die like a warrior painted in blood. 
a cloud has a cold name scratched on 
its back. kisses replay themselves backward, lips
disappearing like Octobered watermelons.
I have been carrying the story of a bear
through this shivasana. if all goes
well, I will awake riding the bear. if not
the bear will eat me and winter will 
never stop. if you do not believe me
think hard about what melts ice,
what wakes the dead. Lazarus awoke
to the touch of something he did not believe.
a sliver pulled from his heart.
Shiva awoke when death squatted on him
and became life. so we recognize love
in the thinnest of seasons by the narrow 
by the thin. we light fires.
when our lover touches us on the shoulder
we shiver, but not of the cold

.