August 2017


There are little reminders everywhere
Of my longing for you
Half written letters
and emails
poems confessing
that I could never leave you.
I want with every part of me
for you to be the one
I wake up with
and return to
Explore the unknown spaces
in nature
and life
….
My life is better for you
and in this I must find
enough
Amongst the photographs
and stories
And in this longing
that began
before I new your name
and may last until
my grave
…..
Enough in this longing
that I am alive
in body and form
and I ache with such
beauty
being touched by life
and being so graced
to be touched by you.

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I want
with such force
to hold again
the mystery
that is you
In detail
and
In skin
To penetrate the rules
and this longing
once again
So I can remember
it all
before
I’m forced to forget.

There is something so liberating
To the body… in admitting
such penetrating longing…
that isn’t about
sex
But about being held
in love
by someone that loves you and
recognizes you.
It’s as if admitting it can
call it forth
in perfect form.
The body’s journey seems to be
independent of the mind and
more a mystery than any intellectual
puzzle.
I am learning to have a much different
experience of life in being
more aware of the body’s journey
and more supportive.
I feel lately that it is my job
to honor
and support
my body’s journey and process
with love
and not judgement
and it calls for a
new understanding of
Other’s
ways thru life.

I want to tell you about the storm
That took him away
But the storm is over and
I’m left reeling while he sits
on the other side of town.
There is magic in both
your absence and
your presence but not in
my force upon our friendship.
There was a magic
we held together
before your hand so firmly fit around mine.
I knew my name then
and I heard your heart.
I run now to the rivers to cleanse myself of you
or so I think
I go to the Santa Fe river with offerings for Oshun and your name
wrapped around a rock I lodge directly in the stream
I go to the Pecos River to pray, tossing offerings and listening
I go to the arroyo, so dry, and sit beneath the bridge.  Calling the names of deities
I take a piece of paper that belonged to you crumple it in the dry river bed.
How foolish I am… when what I am trying to cleanse me of is me…..
My feelings, my depth, my beauty…
I reach into myself
My brothers and sisters surround me
And I bind myself to Me and my God
I’ve nothing to rid myself of anymore.
Only the River like the Wind to rush in.