1994-1995

4.27.95
I’m doing it again:
Falling gently with the rain,
And through the pen onto the paper
I shape her.

“Raw Cranberry”
1995
You spoke the language
As we lay in our sunshine.
It appealed much to me,
And I almost stepped the line.
But now we dance in difference
Could never be so merry –
Now the sunlight is shelter
And the words a raw cranberry.
We smiled like the stars.
Your attentions were joy,
But I was a naïve girl
While you’re long since grown from a “boy”.
But now we wander valleys
In search of something merry.
Now we dance in difference,
And love is a raw cranberry.
Take your hand in hidden swing.
Take the trail in moon’s changeling.
Take the night for silence says,
And the smile of the moon amaze.
We wish for no difference in dance.
The moon, he deemed me merry.
We want no sunlit shelter
For the sun is a raw cranberry.
Understand this two-way silence
Is choice: neither yours nor mine.
I hope you still speak the language
If we ever return to our old sunshine.
The memory sweet is heaven,
The time in which I was merry.
Watch not what you smoke;
Just beware those raw cranberries.

“Losing My Soul”
1994
I step and now I’m falling.
I don’t understand who I’m calling.
There is no light;
Have I lost my eyes?!
I hear a sob –
Now it cries.
There is ground beneath my feet –
Now I see there’s grains of wheat
Many apples
On a tree
I want to see as far
As I can see
I’ve lost something, as empty as I feel
The layer of skin I pull and peel
And I find
That I am empty
My soul is gone,
Floated from me.

“On A Walk Away”
May, 1994
You passed away in the dreams of summer
I paused, my respects, but they were not enough
My knapsack is full of dried food
Just add a little water or eat it plain
The hike is long but there’s nothing like it.
I’m on my way –

“Suicide of Greatness”
May, 1994
We are but young poets
Excuse me my mistakes
The melodiousness which mourning breaks.
Sweet death opens his sicle on me
And folds me under his wings
And whispers staves and carol things
The time ticked by on my watch
(So openly shown in Dante’s fakes)
the melodiousness which mourning breaks
Again a dawn seeks me
Early with weary eyes
My respectful day to life applies
Let me dream and yet give me wake
These days slow and speed though ants
Crawl upon the stilled clock like attendants
Throwing a lily upon the darkest night
My sepulchre sees your silhouette
Live on but learn; read my immortality yet.

1994
The man behind the counter
Says a word or two to me,
But what he did and what he said
Still remains a mystery.
(He looked at the waving ocean.
He glanced out at the sea.)
But what he did and what he said
Is still a mystery.