Like Earhart

Ever since she left she keeps being gone. It is as if we were notBut if I am unrealWhy is my flesh stained by reality The shy part of my wrist a plum-blue and yellowSkin she has known as obscenely as her fingers reaching inside of my mouth. This is not a case of distance…

Love in the time of separation

Amour, Time behaves differently around you; the way trees are around the time autumn comes around. Or how rowdy schoolboys turn into dulcet-toned sweethearts around the geography teacher who’s a dead ringer for Rita Hayworth.  Time is not time around you. It is an imposter. Around you, time does not move like the staid tick…

Amour

This beauty your smile – like a piece of the sun, Laughter thick as cream Days endured I wait for you an unanswered prayer

Kermes

  Helen, you look like a new wound tonight. Your lips rubbed raw by one thirsty for your skin. Helen, the red you wear begs you for mercy. Your cloak of blood brings even the night to shame. I cannot speak the language that asks for you to take it in its mouth. I know…

Open your chest and let the birds out

  “Shy goddess, My love, my one. Your name is zikr – My chest tightens.”   Love replies, “It tightens. You should open quietly, to let the birds out. Hear yourself.”

Book Review: The Sea in You by David Whyte

The Sea in You: Twenty Poems of Requited and Unrequited Love by David Whyte My rating: 5 of 5 stars Reading David Whyte is not unlike praying. He is easily a messiah for our troubled times, bringing with him loaves of compassion, and fishes of insight. David’s writing is a call to that which is…

Postcards from Istanbul /9

“You are always my concern. Nothing has happened to me to make me suddenly think more intensely of you… you, beautiful things and gloomy things are spread over my fleeting days” – Ingeborg Bachmann to Paul Celan May 1949 (unreceived letter) Mosaics are works of art comprising thousands of broken pieces. They are perfect symbols…

Postcards from Istanbul /7

“You are a colander, sometimes losing things. Sometimes what keeps you alive is a mystery.” – Aracelis Girmay   Another night, another room, in another hotel in a city so many thousands of miles away. In my life so often it occurs to me that the more I love, the further the object of my…

My body sends you letters

I miss you. From the rumble inside my gut I miss you. From the wince and gasping ache for your heat, I miss you. From between my tendons, from the twitch of my muscle, from the creak of my aging bones, I miss you. From the soft dark of my hot heart, the steady rise…