time is distance
and we gain it when I make the drive
bundling hours up through the switchbacks
collapsing spacetime with the largeness of together
"how far is it?"
"an hour west."
turn the clock back an hour in mountain time
hold my jaw in your hands
o father, my father.
the image of the invisible god.
flesh transcript
sleep seeker dream eater
your words soak into my brainstem
adaptation.
finding home in the counterpart to your countenance
since the children have flesh and blood.
the testimony of three
a portfolio filled with the facets of your face.
those aren't mountains, they're waves.
stretch the stars toward your singularity.
you're everything I want and more --
we're back.
she sees my hair at your feet. covering covering covering
my sunny red and your burnished bronze
explosion against the darkness, your ash canvas,
I love to rest in your shade
"do you wanna jump?"
matti asks herself,
michelle smiles at my wildflowers,
there's a shy jealous spark in your eye.
I blush back.
we walk to the ocean.
you look to your left,
there's robbie beside me,
I miss you,
sandy beside me on a beach chair,
the privilege of loving.
it's okay, you carry me in dreams.
i look to my right,
jaco locks eyes and hands.
together we lift thousands on the sand.
he squeezes my shoulder in the break room. does he know?
a silver screened life.
so here is my prayer -----
I want you to take me to the place that just barely interacts with what language can convey. Take me to the very horizon of verbal expression, a place where we are desperately grasping words few and far between, like holds on a rock climbing wall, a place where our distance from language is what makes our experience more real than anything we've ever known.
annabelle walks over just long enough for me to know.
pauses framed outside my window,
looking up at the birdhouse through blonde bangs,
a child.
a replica,
a kodee playing with frozen flowers as I pack my room up
for the long drive home.
we've decided they're all types, though, haven't we?
homes and seven-year-old prophets
in the mountains and the skylines
all types of you.
you're here. you're here. you're here.
we're here, you say,
together.
leaning leaning love.
future in seed form
words I can touch
become worship bruises on my hands
they see you in my eyes
they see the distance from my feet
reaching breacher
"draw me a humpback whale."
the person you are is a world unto ourself
freedom from feardom
audience of one, a singularity
you wanted to make it the touching type
so of course it's fabric, it's spacetime, it's you.
I don't care, clothe you in it, dance me in it
the place where starry sky meets black sea
a horizonless expanse of you
you you you you you
typing words like music
keys, notes, scores, sheets
is there even a difference in your joy?
blood covenant of it all bleeding together
walking through the flesh
walking through my dissected heart.
blood and water poured out
like the spirit and the bride groaning, ----
everything everything a mosaic of moments
every moment a conversation
a study in fractals and parallels
as we walk through the fragments of bloody flesh.
everything everything feels like it did
when we walked barefoot into the lush summer valley
when we skated barefoot down the street
when here + here = everywhere
you walk with me in it all.
lay your hands on me like elijah.
the dawn rises gradient first on the cliffs
then a blinding blaze when I leave,
running down the dust to capture shadow,
suspended fractals in my rearview mirrors.
I always found it in the corners of others' lives
the public secrets that they keep with themselves
well, I have someone to share this walk with, and it's you.
so let's walk down fourth to eagle
I can make a home anywhere
because my home is you.
we mapped it this morning and I say,
build with me always,
stones of fire and dreams,
perfectly fitted together combining spirit thoughts with spirit words
the cylinder of my soul
a dwelling place of God.
don’t say amen.
the sheets pull up from the corners
as I toss and turn my aspen soul
bidding me onward.
don’t say goodbye.
my brights won’t quite catch the cliffs
on my long way down
but I know they’re there.
don’t wake up for me.
the door opens glowing on the porch
I’m just loading up,
I’ll be back. I’ll be back. I’ll be back.