Whenever I Go To The Coast

Whenever I Go To The Coast

The glare of the afternoon sun

caught sight of your hands

as they grazed my skin,

lightly committed lines leaving traces

like sand grains, sprinkled thinly into glistening patterns

where our dry backs meet the ocean

and gave in to melting.

What I mean to say

is that I cherish these soft days

where souls are christened with sea salt

and float atop peace waves,

where healing is a boat

that casts out its anchor

on the beach shores of our suffering,

nets spread tenderly with intentions

to carry the load off my mind.

Groundwork

Groundwork

I would like to rely a little more on myself

and not see hope as a chore,

like eating healthy or being kind to my anxiety,

something other than just coping

when lack of sleep slides into the bed beside me

and swears he’s the only intimacy I’m worth.

Can I place a hand over where it hurts,

yours or mine, or both together,

allow scars to touch bare skin

without lying about their origin,

my longings and wishful thinkings,

mistakes and misplaced trust.

Of the things I find hard to accept,

the most difficult is knowing

how the next steps require

I must let go of them all.

Here Lies Grace

Here Lies Grace

I woke up this morning and sensed the air

mingle with the spaces between my fingers,

the weight of your absence

like a twenty pound blanket I sometimes carry

as extra skin

when I long to feel less fragile

and more oxytocin, more real

and less repellent.

I round up my knees

to cradle the present,

give it the human touch it needs

in moments of discomfort so quiet

that I hear the birds outside my window

breathe in faintest echos

like the words my lips speak silently

across an empty pillow.

Communion

Communion

Today is for the realigning of bare bones,

edges exposed,

every crack blessed with drops of holy water

for how else would I honour

the body of a Goddess.

Trace my fingertips over this skin

with the tenderness of a lover

whose touch was gone too long

but right on time to hold these hands as they sleep,

only letting go to wipe tears from her cheek.

Then, wake her up gently,

magic cast in the whispers of morning breath,

planting kisses on the back of her neck

where pulse meets electricity

and calls it healing energy,

calls it what I need,

when I stopped waiting for a reminder

of my trauma

to leak love back into capillaries

and find a daily practice

to map its journey through my blood stream.

We answer our own prayers.

Equilibrium in Motion

Equilibrium in Motion

This is not a war

and there is no you outside yourself

to fight.

It’s just the passage of thoughts

and fleeting feelings,

laying themselves to rest for awhile

inside an impermanent body,

which you also inhabit

as an everlasting spirit.

Part of being

is life becoming,

all in this together,

and nothing in nature is exempt from this change.

So notice how we change with you,

refined for our next revolution,

even the rivers and streams have currents.

Growth

Growth

I’m made up of moments

scribbled in the margins

of a worn out notebook.

These are the seeds sprinkled on recycled trees,

watered by tea-stained cups,

collections of my teardrops.

This is the hope drunk,

burning my throat

as silence drowns from the inside out,

the pen eating each forgotten line

with the fragility of shaking hands,

they hold these feelings as a gentle kiss

between fingers,

held still for a breath

to let the birds bless

this communion of sacred togetherness.

My spirit alive in the ink that spills,

once stalled, for now pours,

as I discover

there is no touch more intimate.

If You And I Had Been Elemental Forces

If You And I Had Been Elemental Forces

Camden market, where I came by

those shoes on your feet. A comfortable fit

to make this mountain climb an easier course,

with a sky of clouds to conquer,

autographed with the mind’s eye.

To finish the picture,

sometimes, we painted our own clouds.

Called this one cumulonimbus,

another formed the shape we know as shame

next to those of cotton-candy kindness

frozen in time. This pattern came

and stayed, covering the stars

like a foggy window pane

and sending down showers of shadows

we forgot were homemade,

but our cheeks will always wet the same

when our skin meets one another’s pain

and mine are still soaked through

from being too soft or hard on you.

Each counted towards the chance of an impending storm

and luck was skirting the lightning strikes

that tracked our every step,

as moonlight fell on this divided town.

Until one of us, lost

the other one, left

both chasing the finer weather.