Monday, May 29, 2006


We expect each other
to show up every day.

First there is the glow;
that little distance of attraction
that a song has from the singer:
A mutual throat for the flow
of Presence.

We are lovers of course.
I want to be in You
but You are expectant,
pregnant with my own soul.
I have to wait
the Mother and child
must dance together
as if they were more a betrothal
than a birth.

My heart crashes into Your love
We meet in my demise
where You expect me
to rise like the dawn-
to become the pulse
of Your throat

your eyes.