“You were born in my memory
already yearning for something further,
distant: what I too
wish I could articulate
but see inside of you.

Like the ray reflects light from the gemstone:
you capture what I could never say alone.
As the ray is to the gemstone:
so my inner world is articulated through your own.

The similes quickly cheapen, the language limp,
these words: movement frozen in time,
a mere fossil of the sacred breath, once whispered in my ear
(so faintly I could barely hear!)

Though maybe, you and I, together when we’re near
maybe we can find inside each other the ineffable
that we can’t find in ourselves.”

*

“I was born in your memory,
already yearning for something further,
distant: a howling wind
hidden within
the tangled leaves
of dancing bullrushes.

Do not mourn for me at night:
the mundane like exposed blood
will only come forth in gushes.
Do not hope to find me in sight:
better to kiss a masochist
and to find in this
some nuanced kind of rite.

And night after night?
I may visit you, late,
but visit only: take heed.

I was always more pollen than seed.
In the bowels of our first moments,
my trajectory was clear; my nature a fate.

Eve always knew this, a shame you never could,
otherwise it wouldn’t have been an initiation.”