Sunday, December 22, 2013


this is me when I'm open to the universe.
this is me....


TRAVELERS

Take that pen, the one on the nightside table,
used in the book you're reading on the Dalai Lama--as a placeholder,
or for underlining your favorite passages.

Take that pen, and draw upon my skin,
in a place I can't see but only feel,
as you connect the freckles along the backside of my thigh
and I quiver from the pressure of your traveling hand.

Is it as large as a house? I ask,
Or small enough to fit inside a suitcase?
Is it edible, or make noise, or have a distinguishable scent?
Could I pick it up and move it?
If I cast it off, would it come back?
Is it part of who you are?
Is it a part of us, and if so
must we stand still to behold it?

Give me a hint! I plea, as the lines you make
are more defined than my guesses.

We can sail away from here, tomorrow, if you like.

I then take that pen
and draw for you my heart and a parachute,
just in case our boat gets lost.





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