The Storm

This is about letting go of despair, as simply as a hummingbird flicks its tongue at a hibiscus flower.

I will describe myself like a painting that I looked at long and hard, with words as familiar as my coffee mug.

You can see then, how inside me the dark and the light are not separate.

At any moment now thunderheads will swallow the sky and soon be ashes.

I did not mention it earlier because your tongue was sweet; with almonds.

Emerging from a teeth shattering silence inside me, jasmine hands gesture the darkness to make room for us.

I see you sleeping with white bougainvillea's blooming in your skin, that are really my finger prints, while I wait for the blue and yellow fish to settle in the tide pools of my dream.

We are under water among the coral, swaying until our names are lost.

Only the liquid voice followed us across ecstatic white sand where boats are moored in the same way my arms seize you.

It deepens my lips with a gesture as persistent as the gently shifting motion of sea birds.

I dance to your eyes fluid melody. Tequila kisses make us translucent, like the afternoon light on the lemon tree.

The sun has given you her serape, dance with her.

Two small, white doves flirt with half lit dreams in your eyes.

With your amber silk glance, and classic satin lips, It is you that I did not need to imagine.

Together we saw women arch their backs in surrender, and men stuff pain into deep pockets of laughter.

The wooden floor is soft with the humid odor of cigars and beer spilled recklessly.

Voices with deep resonance of new hope and old faith echo in the chambers of my heart.

Give back this day gladly and throw it into the fire, for time is measured by how hungry you are.

Alder and cottonwoods embrace the form of a stream, they do not argue, and are silent as the empty soul.

We look up and hope to find the solitude off guard, yet the storm moves in knowing where it belongs. It rages then falls asleep curled around the earths temptations.

I sip deeply of the liquor in your voice as it drains our sense of time like the darkness that surrounds us.

The deepest part of my soul senses my life moving on despite the flooding and devastation of my spirit.

Just when I feel I am about to see the distance between your world and mine, it rains. As always, all is forgotten when it rains.

What we really need is to taste the honesty flowing softly from the raspberries who are now intoxicated at the bottom of your wine glass.

If necessary I could erase this moment, convincing myself that sincerity abounds in my corner of earth.

However a stone mason has sharpness in his eyes. He, in fact is the architect of sincerity because he has paid the price for things done both well, and not so well.

My life twirls in the spirals that are ever growing and contain only the truth of things.

One must always leave a light on in the darkness, even a candle of poor quality. Darkness emits pain if left untouched.

Love often leaves the heart where it was found, in a state of agitated confusion. The paths of tranquility and insanity are fated simply by attitude first, then honest perception.