I
The rain is beginning
to end; everything
is green,
a green forgotten
in the monsoon.

The light is warm
on wrinkled skin;
shining across
the plains and fields
leading home.

Be it on dirt or by stream
dawn calls down the moon,
reveals the rocks beaten smooth.

II
I line the walls of my room
with pictures from magazines,
to cover their trembling, trying to find a likeness
of you.
.                Pictures of dancers and diners,
all the places we laughed at the sorrow of survival:

there is one of an adobe hallway, I can almost smell
you cooking frioles around the corner, calling me
tenderly to share your wealth,
.                                                              and another
of a lonely dock we may have walked across
in search of one another many years ago.

A map covers my ceiling, so I can find you sleeping
in Portland or Cleveland, or next to me,
like the girl in the garden selling salad dressing
under a caption that reads

‘There’s a taste here for everyone, but to find it you may have to try them all.’

III
My ears may never obey me; whether I talk
in Spanish, German, or French,

when I tell them “We like Native American art,
it’s not our fault the white man took their land.”

I was only born, not to go on trial
or be Job still struggling
to hear his God. Not the one I was sold to
with holy water and good old saint John, not the one
who would demand so great a price, to be never unseen
or walk alone, no, my god doesn’t look like a man
or a left-handed black woman for that matter.
My only God are these words, not even the paper or ink.

IV
All the faces from before
that watch me, staring why and convince us
it was real, still smile when I write.

I ask them to come, they refuse,
choosing instead to dance the river up-stream and laugh
about how I would dare to plead to them
who have nothing to say;
their dry lips cracked and stinging
with blood mutter bits of rhyme to me when I sleep,
forcing me from bed to answer their lonely eyes.

V
A stream runs from the volcano,
making the lava pumice
before it is freed in a flash of gas and glory.

We seek to taste the cool water flowing underneath
but our feet burn on the molten ground,
turning our soles black and singeing our legs:

to dare swim in and escape the heat will kill us
as quickly, unable to turn and let others know
how close you came to finding out first hand.

VI
Climbing Boulder mountain to the glacier
that provides that tiny city with half its water
I stop. The thin air takes its toll on my sea lungs.
Even in June there is snow up here, taunting spring
to let summer open in a rush, to try and claim this land
if only for a minute. It is three miles up and a second back.

VII
From above the ozone even Congress is invisible,
the rage and terror hidden, even as it grows
across our forefathers like a wild mushroom,
feeding off the forest floors decay.
Maybe we’d be better off if some aliens did yell
attack and head on in, moving in closer
to take out the cancer. Maybe
give us another chance.

VIII
You don’t wear underwear either, thriving
in that hippie mentality; soft flesh covered by cotton.
The thread that entwines our past
with this moment, moving across the barroom
to a back door. Standing on either side of an unpainted screen
like a mirror before turning up the alley.

IX
My shirt still smells like the jasmine you wore,
wrapped in your scarf and breast. My skin still trembles
at a warm breeze like the one I met you under.
Your voice calls to me through the humid air
and its meaning trails close behind.
I will return to the mountains, search the fields
and forests that line the highway.

X
Moonless night, walking on a path beyond the barn;
the shadows run free, the stars demand attention.
When we can hear and feel beyond the limits
of the day or tender moons stolen light.
Now is the time to look into the midnight;
stop remembering love that has gone.
Now is the time to receive the only true sacrament;
to wake and see beyond the sun.

XI
My past could always haunt me
or keep me from today:
muddying my feet with tears
that fall free from my eyes,
causing me to slip,
stumble, fall
back down
or
tie myself up in barbed wire,
leaving my hands bloody and sore.
The tiny nails to crucify
and soft ground to sink a cross in.

XII
We are all orphans,
cruelly laughed at and jeered,
looking for a mother or father to answer
for the pain. A ride through the snow
or warm arms when the lights go dim in the rain;
not the false warmth of people who only know you.
Still we rise each morning
through the daring dance of dawn, Jacob’s ladder
built through the blinds, telling us to climb
out of bed and not be found
guilty of the sins we were born into,
giving our children a life that was unknown.

XIII
We both can’t exit the elevator
at once; will you give way, let me
pass or will I step back, give you the right
of way. We now approach the basement
floor and are slowed you say ‘Lobby,
Going up’.

XIV
In China they offer corn to the dead, here we offer roses
or orchids to our restless relatives, travelers
on roads of roots and bone. Even the dead can’t eat flowers
still we burn our corn for the government.

XV
If you keep making rights you will eventually get out of here;
the forests trails are old like their guardians but exit
is granted for those who keep moving.
A man is only prisoner if he is ashamed at his fate,
not wise enough to know when and ask
for some direction. You may also get a meal
or enlightenment besides a map
to the other side of the valley.

XVI
The frost melts so quickly off the cantaloupe leaves,
in a brilliant second of defiance
calling out ‘ I will return when my sister rises,
and stay a moment longer.’

XVII
At the moment the rain was clearing,
the final drops running off the oak leaves;
when the sun shines through the branches.
You said call or write
when you get back to Baltimore
I said I’ll be back
before the rains come again.

XVIII
Unafraid to walk away,
no highway to vast or distant,
no telephone to far away,
like a circle, slow and persistent

XIX
I will grow a single dreadlock not to be seen;
with hair down my back and on my face
like a lion mask.
My complete defiance before and of
God, government and family.

XX
I heard the British were going to reconstruct their empire
on the Internet or with pixie stix , bring back the battles
where you told the enemy you were coming,
make Hong Kong a great city once again.

XXI
I never remember to bring a blanket
when I go camping; I often sleep in the dirt
or avoid it until dawn and crawl under the shade.
It gets cold at night in western New York
state, even with you some cover would be nice.

XXII
The smell of bacteria breeding, dry and salty
under our arms and between our thighs;
the only true perfume, taming our thirst wild
in its mawkish stature, dripping with life.

XXIII
Going to cross the boldest ocean,
touch New Zealand, see her beautiful women;
strange as they reinforce Darwin.
Moving this dark green desert, finding solace
in its separation from the main land;
a thousand stories swirling about my bow,
asking me to lend an ear.
They guide me past the islands
like a Chevy around pylons
before slamming on the brakes
at the first sign of deliverance;
the darker green of the forest on the shore.

XXIV
Black, black
the coal and the soot ;
thick, thick
the rich clouds of smoke.
Burning, burning
my eyes in the morning;
gray, gray
the color of my white picket fence.
Foul, foul
the smell of the waterfront;
for sale, for sale
the creatures of the bay,
the politicians in City Hall
the wharf worker and his family;
saying ‘If we don’t destroy we’ll die
in the darkness and the cold.’

XXV
Today we will rest, feast and drink,
it’s Wednesday
and we’ve all got the middle of the week thinking blues.
Choose up a partner and two-step ‘til dawn
or saddle down with Little Mississippi Lightnin’;
make a margarita, pass that pipe around.

XXVI
In the rushes of the riverside I search
for turtle eggs, hoping to see one hatch.
Mother doesn’t take kindly to this,
daring me to push my hand through the grass
and expose her marsh fortress;
still I continue to ignore her warnings.

XXVII
for John Cage

Beginning
Rhyme

Metaphor –à Conceit

Rhyme
End