The Full Moon: A Love Poem

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You favor one side when you sleep
lean into the silence of the whitewashed wall
crumples of paint dust a veil of blanket.

I carry quietness in the hollow of my chest
slip into the folds of night, the sleeve of silver
under the bridge of your even breathing

worrying about the trespass of your space
but the light of the full moon emboldens me
to take the moistness of your palms in mine.

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A Letter

I write to you sitting in the core of a large tree
ringed with silence.
I have fit into a plinth small to hold the kernel
of your breath.
Sometimes I think your voice has an aquatic form
over my moist skin.
Light from the street pools in your palm curled in
the hollow of my neck.
The leaves fall on the sand coppered by light along
lines of hunger.
Urge grows to hold the red distilled from plumeria
against your throat.
My desire stretches to fill the space between
two grass stalks.

Remembering Mother

It takes two hands to clap
silence languishes in a vacuum.
She presses her elbows on the table
gets up to leave, a spring flows calmly
across her face as fury wrecks me red.

The seasons unfurl in her chest
monsoon curls the edges of her hair
that flutter in lazy scrolls
the skin on her waist a gentle turmeric
in the moistness of summer.

I knock around the cave of her silence
fly above the landscape of her stillness
scan the contours of her body dip and rise
as I hold breath at the nine gateways
in an attempt to douse the fire.

She is the water drop on a lotus leaf
no grease marks on the stove
clothes folded away, dishes rinsed
on the sink. Being born afresh
is like dying in the right sense.

 

Symbiosis

symbiosis

The calendar says today is good to sow seeds
sweat glistens his back as he bends down
into the moistness at the lip of the earth.
River bears sludge of memory of the high summer
slants into the pores encrusted with dust.
After being sodden with every ounce of light
the leaves tune into a core only the sun can reach
in thumps of energy folding through the membrane.
Distilled by wind at the ascent of the day
the fragrance of jasmines cloys the bees into
a slumber of breeze that carries to his limbs
to the thighs knotted in toil scars of tissue
along the length of the tree to the darkness of roots.
Symbiotic green his veins braid sinews of wetness
as the calcium from bones leach into the soil.