uncollected, barely edited thoughts from a train, tipsy

car ride to north station went too quickly,

hand drumming the seat divider

naturally and cell phone

beeping unnecessarily some swerves

and puddles i was happy just to be

there because i had found my fire, hit the

floor or touched

the earth as they say in dimly lit yoga

studios, had found something like earnest

italian and realized my

heart was beating overtime, like it was pulling

water from a well and pumping it with all haste to a fire to be put out,

but a forest fire, one of those necessary if not

controlled burns tree roots tap in

to later (once made rich the soil)

energy and strength, nervous energy transformed to excitement

watching thoughts is almost like

watching the words at the bottom of a singalong

song. don't know if i've ever watched so

boldly but in a book of good ideas, pt. II, i might add that we should

kiss and see what happens. start a business

dreaming of music videos that never

get made but sound really beautiful

fingers playing mountains like a

keyboard and picking cirrus clouds like

guitar strings.

teenage dream? admit it build that

fort of sheets and memories brought into

the present

in the yoga room focus on

hands crunching arms,

foot sweat slipping

eyes looking straight

forward or up or

relaxing the (i imagine) three braids of

muscles in the back of the neck.

in the yoga room where sighs make up most of the air,

shaking arch, mind's stories,

pass observed then

find fire, a blaze controlled but

right let the heart (pumping blood, taking

air) want to be

elsewhere sometimes. boom

boom and now the rain is

beautiful

cvp

an island

clouds like strata layer today's horizon,
stacks of thick white drifting on clumps of
alpine grass, gaming hide and seek mountains,
rain mist tip top toes swish on rolls and curves of rock
hide them hide them
but they are there i just know it
the brightest white of wet days
is playing the darkest dark of
the night that never truly comes here
to hide a stretching reality underneath. here
instead of dark we get ink blue spills washing
out to the north, solstice is nearing, and a big moon
has shed color streaking the sky yellow leaving behind
a watercolor of melting light and color undulating
like the swells of sea under my midnight kayak. i have never been quite
sure if the fear of bears makes my legs faster or slower
bushes and trees brushing my thighs do not stop
just go his muscles, so quick bob ahead, mirage ahead and
on mile 12 i swear there was an eagle fishing swooping
making magnificent manifest and here roads end, stop
mid stride the only place to go has not been reached
made closer made recovery the magic
of still unmoving wings breaths taken lost
taken lost losing me trifecta of trombones at dawn
dusk gloam here sink here sit here be here
there is no there there is no they, roads may end
but a we goes on. here i still miss something here
on an island with everything or perhaps nothing
the difference is slight, like the blank slate of deafening noise
whose consistency of sound has the most
hollow silence, the universe contained in the dirt
under my fingernail, in the wet of one dancing cloud
tapping toes on gavan hill, cartwheeling on
the ridge to harbor mountain, in the specks in the
iris of light blue eye.

dls

June 13, 2011

I've

Watched the sunlight trickle in in bars

And I've

Stolen furtive glances

through the window

and on the the street.

It is peaceful.

The shirt is white

And everything that is brown

is glowing.

Not so many scars today,

while there's sleep,

but heavy eyes

carry stories

that stand against a starch collar.

Here's a time for smiling.

A rare moment for rest

the present.

-BHN

sparknotes on chapter one (or snippets of crazy from a leathered journal)

i. postcards of flight fly into my pocket

birds like paper airplanes
float on wind air
the buoyancy of tiny
minnows in midwater
ocean floating
a caterpillar inches forward squishes stretches
at the most steady pace the
minarets here poke holes
in a paper blue sky
construction paper maybe
he left six days ago
bullet holes in a tin wall.
my heart beats syncopation shudders
down my spine his words are like
steel wind chimes tickled by
the breeze a thick orange sunset
sky holds the silhouette
of six birds a series
of black right angles in the sky
string marionettes at the
outer tips
invisible strings i think
i loved him too young buoyant
love an invisible riptide, water wind,
shifts the course of the largest sperm
whale.

ii. synesthesia

there's sunlight in the tea here
rays of light a dark mix of a sleeping sky
slip farther muddy hands
like melted chocolate bars deep caves
and long shadows the wind blew
my bangs a flapping flag
mountains carved of rock a breath
of adventure rolling contours a
fast drum. her hands weave wings for
fairies and her eyes close and i know
a dream lives there
synesthesia musical colors thick fields of
flowers light yellow petals he left clues
in my book i will meet you again someday
dance sunshine with you weave trains of mountains
grab your hand and let tall grass brush my hips running
nowhere but somewhere, perhaps, because we will be
that--a we--going nowhere.

iii. internal forts

land of magic land of one thousand
sheets hanging from rope land of
i love sisterhood and the way
light soaks through thin cloth
here the divine feminine speaks through
our head on lap hiccuping tears i will scratch
your curly hair until She has written us a Bible just
light me a candle if i close my eyes
i can fit on a toy sailboat and weave between
the tiniest of waves you are
beautiful standing in the middle of the street with
no cars wind rushing your hair up in laughter
yellow leaves flying
the air full of them
and i know what joy looks like
She tells us of these things here
the feminine is divine, the divine is feminine.
you are divine, my dear, hair flying up
or hair lying down because a tornado
of brilliant autumn leaves lives in your heart.

iv. primary colors

sunshine stripes through clouds
splotchy sky prisms of perpendicular
paralysis one moment
stillness amid movement
water trickles, horn honks,
merhaba merhaba
bright red scarf, flag, sky,
the sky shines red before dark
wind caught fabric sun through
cloth beam. sun beam sugar tea i still
smell you-smell in the morning when
i close my eyes the warm spot in my bed is where
you just got up good morning sweetheart
yellow city shines one color
multiplex matte brick shine he's not
here not even close.

v. istanbul, cuba

my body contained something electric,
an elevator of electricity rising and falling
in shafts of my bones tinkering
between tendons as he dipped my head
bent my back shocks of
i am alive ran through
me and salsa music played.
i dream in memories not my own when
women warriors marched in sedentary
stone and my namesake sang lullabies to
unborn babies and turquoise tiles fit on floors
a mosaic of unmemory mixing like sugar in
my tea with tiny girls in pink dresses
with hands full of Turkish plums
and powder sugar hands and rose
Turkish delight.
2 birds nested above breakfast
and his curls were dark, eyes deep
and warm, coffee no sugar sweet
smell of apple hashish, fingers grab mine,
the breeze on mount nemrut wisps dirt off
Hellenic eyes, light catches birds
flying like confetti in the sky
amid the general wonderment of the
world's largest dandelion, and i like
your energy, there's something, something
something about the way Arabic letters melt together
and his translation of Turkish into
colors sings (it's not synesthesia
when it's music).

vi. jumping off rocks

sun dripped indigo hot acid
brainwaves slow crystalized
sodium licked on dry warmed up
skin freckled on lips dots of salt i
leaned onto the infinite turquoise ocean
hair flew a tornado of hair on
a perfectly still wait
one dimension of mountain horizon
low late sun spreading silver spilling it on
top of wind blown sea
letting go letting go
big jumps off coral cliffs
seconds spent mid air
hair above i'm tall
you see as tall as
the sea sky really they
might be the same i am
the tiniest piece of meat
in the largest sandwich
the universe expands
contracts a held hand a
caught eye fingers two of them
stroke a fresh face underwater world
crash swimming is like dancing
in slow motion, hushed underwater sounds,
hushed swooping legs, hushed wet face,
hush.

DLS