Turning of the Tides

I had a dream today

I was swimming in the ocean

So real I could taste the saltwater

Holding my breath, lungs burning

No undertow, nothing crushing down

Simply caught, endlessly treading

In the surf, below the surface, myself in service

Pieces of life already buried in the sand

Beach glass, broken shells, skimming stones, my youth

All the jagged edges eventually smoothed away

As if time actually heals; as if the sea has no memory

As if her eyes could unsee what they’ve seen

Burning like the sun right through me

The water’s salt now crusted on my skin

A fish out of water; scaling, screaming

Baited, treading, broken, dreaming; never still

Letting the sea erode my memory

Coming through in rolling waves

Swelling, cresting, curling, crashing forever

A Tender Exploration of Well-Formed Molecules

Courtship romance, akin to a sugar rush

The figurative crash, akin to gravity

Once represented, now simply present

The heart begs to be followed, strings attached

A trust fall, entranced, a dance undertaken

To fall into disorder, and break into pieces

The truth is, real truth is unspoken

But how my eyes have tried to lie

The body speaks its own language

A dialect of movement, universal

Unwritten, unconscious, unconcealed

One caress would feel like hands all over

The lightest touch leading me to wander

So let us never be together, face to face

I’ll never know you better, never make you laugh

We’ll never know disorder, never become ghosts

Never have to break, and end up in pieces

Only ever onstage, in pools of light, entranced

Still rushing, trusting, ever present

Laughing as we defy gravity

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In a sense innocent

Captivated, laying down

Lying patient, humming

In sunbeams, in shadows

In gravity, ingrained

Alive, in love, aloud

A murr, the animal cry

A mask, looking through

A black and white lens

Off white walls that shook

Then scared, then settled again

Shades drawn, in the dark

Indigo, violet, infrared

You color my world

Never staying inside the lines

Don’t Quit Your Daydream

My vessel, encased in skin

Bursting at its fragile seams

Held together with strings attached

My veins, ever blue and weaving

Shown through soft translucence

Like tiny streams into my hands

Interlaced, with no destination

My tears, like gentle sparks

Diving down through street lamps

Now ebbing away, washing the past

Making tide pools and wishing wells

There’s a vast field in my mind

At the end of a long dirt road

With tall grass above my eyes, where

I am found, only to be lost again

The sun cast my shadow down

Bathing all the colors of our world

In radiant morning light, glowing

As we played, eyes gleaming

The wind gusted all around me

Dancing in circles and figure eights

Crying out in a whisper; let it

Carry me away, anywhere but here

Dreaming with eyes wide open

I can still see every color

Exploding in lush radiance

Casting shadows on the sun

In my mind, encapsulated

In all time happening at once

Our fathers were models for God

Our best friends, we all but forgot

In my heart, with strings attached

A handmade crochet ornament

Smelling of sweet perfume

And bursting at the seams

In the space on my wall, where

We hung roses upside down to dry

A scrap paper note that reads

“You have my love.  Don’t let it go.”

I still hold you on cold mornings

Under all my extra blankets

Only to wrap my hurt around you

Interlaced, with no destination

I walk to the church on the hill

Feeling the wind at my back

But I do not want an easy life

I want to tread through pouring rain

And let it stream into my hands

I want to run through uncut fields

And get lost in the afternoon

Let me always be colorful, and 

One with the rhythm of nature

Let me get carried away

Only to end up right here

Let me always know silence

And dream with open eyes....

The lush earth beneath my feet

The cushion of a million blades

Treading through the tall grass

Swaying through every cycle

I am found again

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Zero sleep, over-caffeinated, and realizing (not for

the first time) the enormity of truth in the adage,

“The only true love is unrequited.”  Intermittent rain

outside, what sounded like a shotgun blast; now

recognizing that my feelings on dance and art and

people and love are all the same.  How ballet

continues to shape my perspective on everything I

find beautiful (and grotesque) about life; how this

particular aesthetic is undeniably female in my mind

(if there is such a thing); how épaulement is

everywhere and within everyone; how the cold rips

through my body, shuddering my frame; how too

much current flows through a wire; how my heroes

have passed on, and all I can think to say is,

“He was such a beautiful dancer.”