She writes poetry
& she makes poetry
& she is poetry
(every sound she sings, every
move she shines,
every space she opens)

everything
she tastes

My beloved angel
you will always be wrapped
in the wings of my ecstasy

It's nice how I won't get
even one penny for this poem

and the snow falls on this inverse poverty
and I am warm and I am empty
and I am filled with the light and dark of us
the serperation and the union

and the wrong and right and the
way the snow has covered our tracks
and the scent of whatever wild animal we
are

and the snowfalls
without you

filled with the illumination
of this emptiness

When will we stop the turning away
(we call it by many names;)
love
fear
kindness
uncertainty
security
duty

(excuses to hide for another lifetime)

,Should I suspect myself
of perhaps misunderstanding
the world

Or continue as if I knew my fate
reavealed to me 3 meters at a time

Until some shore is reached
where the Island fragance is so
intoxicating...

I'm not a
Killer
Teacher
Husband
Father
Buyer
Reaper
Seller
Banker
Lawyer
Doctor
Savior
Preacher
Boyfriend
Son
Servant
Leader
Follower
Keeper
Kneeler
Seeker
Friend
lover
Borrower
Stealer

(it's the fault of poems
this predicament)