Sunday, August 17, 2008

Make Me Real

I found You one day

on the tip of my tongue

on the fine hairs

of the back of my hands,

on the margin

of what can be heard and seen.

"Make Me real" You said.

"Make Me your love."

And I did.

I pulled You into me

through the flesh of my words,

through the subtle channels

of every hair on my body.

I consumed You like air.

Drank You like wine.

No scripture has written of this

but each moment

my spirit composes You.

You enter through the endless

doors and windows of being.

Sometimes You come through

the dancing molecules of self,

sometimes just as light

through a crumbling wall.

"Make Me Real" You said.

Each day our poetry

surfaces above

the skin of the world

as real as any sunrise.