After the Rain

And she is standing there in the parking lot
under a night sky the color of poetry
A sky crying spring tears
and every gesture
every nuance of expression
every line of her body
look of her eye
says
“Hold me
Please hold me
for the love of God please hold me
Why can’t you just hold me”

I put my arm around her
and we watch a watery moon
take the stage above the world

Behinjari and I

I am a demigod in training
and have a name but can never say it
I only know it when I am called

In the rainy days of heaven
we often seek entertainments and distractions
and having tired of several kinds of argument
I begged Behinjari to spar with me

Not often given to such amusements
he at last relents
Several of our number gather
for he seldom engages in the contact sports

He toys with me and every time I advance
he moves like water
moves like wind
and he is suddenly behind
in front of
nowhere near me

I go through the dance the third time
and decide to put a little spontaneous variation
in my movement
I lunge at him when anyone would expect me to pull away

And he is not there
he is no longer anywhere
Everyone gasps in surprise

I laugh
but it turns into a troubled sound
I call for him to come out and show himself
Everyone looks about uncomfortably

I ask everyone to help look for Behinjari
and we look behind the clouds
we look below the seas and beyond the stars
we look under the mountains and within the hearts of the stars
we look between the moments and across the time after time

We look till we are exhausted and spent
I stumble while climbing back up the hill and feel something
funny inside me when I lurch
I call the others to the hall and ask them to watch me closely

I go through the dance a forth time
and pull a spontaneous movement
as I land
I lunge to the left
as he is lunging to the right
and there he is
He has been hiding inside me all this time

We all laugh till we cry

the reality of the sky-eyed child

i met a child on the road
that runs beside Parnassus

and we had conversations about all the animals
the way waters run downhill
and the way the sun plays with the moon

later that day a man came up the path
the man began to scream and stamp his feet
the man challenged the child
and called the child all manner of fowl and vile names

i tried to comfort the man
but he would have none of it
i put my hand on the man’s shoulder
and i saw that where the child stood there was a demon
i jumped away
and where the demon stood there was a fearful child

the man started toward the child and i hit the man
i did my best to deter the man but he got past me

the child picked up a stem of grass
and stuck the man

the man was grievously hurt
and he lay on the ground writhing

the child was very upset and crying

i shouted
“Why did this happen?
Why did he see you as a demon and i see you as a child?”

i did my best to tend the man’s wounds

the child came to us then
and lay his hand on the man’s head

the man drooped and i thought the child had killed him
but the man was asleep and dreaming
his breathing was regular and his face at peace

i looked into the sky-eyes of the child
i asked “Will he die?”
the child replied “Not today.”

there ensued a silence
not unlike the silence between the stars

again i asked
“Why do i see you as a child
and he saw you as a demon?”

the child sighed a sigh
centuries old
then said
“I am reality
and humans see me as they want me to be.”

and i wept
for my own stupidity and carelessness
but the child touched my arm and said
“You may not see me for all that I am
but you see me for the good I do.
Between you and him
I much prefer your interpretation.”

The Belief in Silence

She said
“I believe in silence
It is the one true religion
Everything ends in stillness”

Her heart falls from her eyes
The sun slides through the horizon
Slides through the crack in the world
The sky can no longer bear the weight

She said
“Why do we never see the moon
until the sun is gone?”

A large, languid, silent, summer moon
reclines in a bed of milky clouds
Somewhere
somehow
something calls across the years of silence

The tiniest sounds. . .
a bird
unheard in the rush and thunder of the day

She smiles

i sit, quiet

in her eyes
a reflection
the words
never spoken

they come near
the surface
this time of year
when the hounds of fire
run the riverbed of the sky

she sleeps
dreams mirror lakes
dreams of fear and joy
all the way from heaven to hell
and back again

i sit
quiet

in her heart
thoughts
never shared
never in words
from her lips

is the longing
for her release
hers or
mine?

Closed Tuesdays

Two meta-morphs used to go to the museum
and walk the halls on Tuesdays
cause the museum is closed on Tuesdays

There was the time they flew the Enola Gay
They walked along Ramesses II’s Nile
(there will be no discussion of what they did in the Roman exhibit
what happens in Rome stays in Rome)

Two meta-morphs used to go to the museum
and walk the halls on Tuesdays
cause the museum is closed on Tuesdays

He had a penchant for the Far-Eastern wing
she had a thing for the Greeks

She liked the alicorns and ravens
he liked wolves and dragons

He nearly striped a gear imitating a Jackson Pollock
she nearly caught on fire imitating an old movie projector

Two meta-morphs used to go to the museum
and walk the halls on Tuesdays
cause the museum is closed on Tuesdays

You see there is no conclusion to this story
because they are still doing it

Portraying all the forms of Art
for each other’s amusement

So the next time you go to the museum
(any day but Tuesday)
look around
Look for something just slightly out of place

It might be one of them

Smile and wink
and watch to see if you get one in return . . .