Whistling for Moonbeams

Stay the heart that rages in its cage, furious in its muteness. Desire is fluid, doing all that water does: simmer and rise to heights,  ...

I lean on the wooden counter and rest my cheek against my palm. There is accounting to be done--the year is about to end--but I would rathe...

Begin with alliteration. For example: flickering firelight, tentative tenderness, shivering shorelines, preempt this predicament, cling to c...

In journeys we are completely at the mercy, not of memory but of the road  we take, which carries us across moonlit worlds and skins at ...

We open at six o'clock. You are always up hours before, and you always have to pull--carry--me out of bed and I, still warm from y...

Descending from your flight to madness, still shaky from the breathlessness of the tempest, you step down and plant your feet firmly on ...

And you are everywhere even as you are nowhere in touch, for here is the place things cherished are laid bare in-- the edge of body...

"They took to silence. They touched each other without comment and without progression. A hand on a hand, a clothed arm, resting on a...

" And when I go away from here, this will be the mid-point, to which everything ran, before, and from which everything will run....

Your name lingers near my mouth like a kiss that never quite happens-- fingertips hovering over delicate wineglass, breeze brushing past l...

I look for you in the rustling restlessness of moments. I long for the peace of your presence--if these quickenings be peace, if these flu...

For what is longing but the space between the absence of the beloved and their presence? Still, the minutes stretch like miles in the pathwa...

"But now, love, we are here, we are now, and those other times are running elsewhere."         - A. S. Byatt, Possession I h...

Soul-like, something slips from my grasp and goes to you. A promise? A sigh? A question? Something--a word, a phrase. I cannot quite be su...

What sadness is this, what woe? I can hear the waves crashing to shore, only the sound is receding, only the blue, dimming. What ails the ...

Because I was afraid of the recognition my light had seen in yours, I ran, and ran. And as I ran, I threw shafts of darkness your way, conju...

" Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real." - Cormac McCarthy, All the Pretty Horses Forty three years ...

" Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real." - Cormac McCarthy, All the Pretty Horses Forty three years ...

You slump into a couch, exhausted. A host of thoughts flits by--faces, names, faces with names, nameless faces, random names, random faces--...

Strange things happen, sometimes. Sometimes, we are not where we are, we are somewhere else. This evening, the sea is beside us--the s...

Here is one last faith in metaphor. That it must do what it's meant to, and draw you near. Abstraction is the silence of skin: - f...

"It's like I'm falling out of bed From a long, weary dream The sweetest flowers and fruits hang from the trees Falling o...

On a rainy day, one entertains thoughts similar to rain. The general chill in the air becomes a prolonged brush of coldness against reluctan...

I am typing down these words. In the background, Jeff Buckley is singing, "kiss me, please kiss me," and I am wondering who he wro...

A conversation is an overture to many things: the next conversation, kinship, love. Cross this out. We redirect, retract, swerve--we talk ab...

Today is your birthday. Today is your birthday and in my mind, we are thirteen again. It's 5 in the afternoon, and I am standing by a ...

Water. Oh, to soak, to sink in dreams of you, to wade through you, or drown, perhaps, but gloriously. Because I cannot swim. Stop str...

Is that moonlight in the water? I stand up to get a better view of my view of the lake. All things that could be still are still; only the...

I grieve my inability to turn you into what I want you to be: here. You are always somewhere else: next month, seven steps ahead, a moment...

I remember the scent of burning candles. One finds oneself at home in the crowd, the lack of space. One gets accustomed to the rush, the m...

Today, it is dew that you awaken to, a morning wrapped in cloud, soft notes from some distant music. Yesterday's weather report said it ...

--In the swell of evening, all is space and more space. Crickets go darting the night to alliterate a face. They scree a name t...

"People, they love blood. They love action.  Not this talky, depressing, philosophical bullshit." This year, Neil Patr...

"As I lay next to you in hyperacidity," I sing, in my best imitation of Geoff Tate's unabashedly bass bass, my best imitation ...

I am piecing you together, broken, absent one--you are whole because I say you are. I think you up in metaphor: the rustle of leaves again...

My eyes sweep the clutter around me, looking for material, wondering which one goes first, which one goes with what, which one stays where i...

I am throwing a smooth, grey stone your way. It will land near your left foot. You will look up from the book you've been trying to re...

"There is a river I found---" - from "Something From Nothing" In Sonic Highways , there is a man, and the man-...

Let me tell you about my recent preoccupation with stasis, about the question of what one is supposed to do with it, about whether one is su...

euphoria. noun - a feeling of great (usually exaggerated) elation Thank you, mobile phone dictionary, for being so succinct. Euphoria is ...

Morning. My thoughts are taking a walk, with I in tow. They are traversing a path strewn with certain hours of certain days. Objects, sights...

I survey the distance from I to you and stifle a gasp. The plan is to calculate and come up with sums, but I end up counting differences, ...

draw a line on one of your furrowed brows, and make a cut, a cut along your frown. I would like to trace that line. It cannot be clean, th...

There is a distance made of walls and on the other side, you. Where are you, dear friend? How are you? Sometimes, it is a thick slab of gla...

These days, I spend a lot of time watching you. I'm not entirely certain if it has something to do with the years I didn't get to sp...

We agree that someday, we will have a garden, and that garden will have: lots of green grass; a perennially mild sun, whose light plays on g...