Old House Made Of River Stone

  
Because I was afraid to sleep alone
I turned to her.
I turned to her boobs.
I turned to her food.
I turned to singing folk songs too.
In that old house
made of river stone
in that old neighborhood in
Fort Worth.
I turned to my cats too
when they’d go clickety clack on
the hardwood floors in the night
my heart would call out
and I could tell the click and the clack
of my polydactyl girl cat from
the pit and the patter of my little blue
boy cat
there
in that old house
made of river stone.
I could call out in the southern
darkness
and they would answer me
and come lay by my side through
the night
until the morning sun turned the air
into that phosphorescent tone
of orange and white.

Fort Worth ’05

The summer was soft to us

That first one there

Fifty-something days of a hundred degree
weather

Though we laid close at night
in the cold air cooled by a window unit
and swaddled
in
cotton blankets my mother had given us

Trees lived in that place and we still held
hands
when we went for walks in the evenings

There was something there that made us
hold hands when we went for walks in the
evenings
and the scent of sprinklers spraying water
over parched grass and warm concrete
rose to meet us
and would stay in just that one way
deep in the tissues of our brain

when we were able to love

in such conditions so far away from the
callous city in which we met

When we were able to love, God
God, when we were able to love

Those Quasars Unitarian

With you, for you, I shaped a
thousand planets.
Trailed freckles and oceans.
Believed in your breath and doubted
your words in the shadows of
timber rafters in houses,
because you are imperfect,
mostly in the corridors of humans.
When driving in a car on a country
highway
between
Fort Worth and Granbury
the Universe was born.
There, on Spring, ten years ago
you noticed we’ve seen
these worlds a million times over.
So then we become afraid to love.
Turned into man and woman.
Red rock and grasses.
Surrounded by oak trees.
Our emotions are mathematic.
Something that is for and from before.
We’ll kiss in dreams at night.
We will be unformed.

Visions In Brazoria

In the woods by the river
spirits trailed me that night
from outside the tent
where we slept on tall grass
under oak trees
I was made to dream
into the air, into the future
a planet of limestone temples
you would leave me
you would leave my heart
all this would change

The rivers turned to floods

and on another planet
very far across the stars
we would love again
in a tent on pastureland
under gray drizzly skies
by a river

how we are made of soil
how our lips carry such
rich information
how they make us as microbes
and colossals in all-continuing
forms

Palo Pinto Or Electrons In The Heart

Brazos River

I think it’s time
we go back to the Brazos

in Palo Pinto country

Where the Rhodesian
barked at the ghosts of cattle
in midnight

filled his eyes with silver
in communion with the past
and its different form of physics

Lead us to the river
to breathe like
the Comanches and Kiowas
for forgiveness

Lead us away from the city
where they reconfigure
the earth for subsistence

Cough and let go
Death is a reappropriation of
electrons in the heart

Lead us to the orange dirt
dust tangled oaks
down to the soft and heavy water

Wash my human pain in sunlight
and humbleness

Make the stupid things be gone

Alone In The Distance

old country road

I’ve made pilgrimages
back over the roads
we first drove
when we moved to Texas

country roads
between
Fort Worth and Decatur

footnotes of the West

blackbirds up high on wires

brush fields
dust
and hills

yellow horizons and dust again

but driving back across
these roads
cannot erase our moments together

so I look these landscapes
in the eye
and feel them in my heart

every
little farmhouse
alone in the distance

Terraces To Heaven

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are you ever made of me?

with your broken heart

not your brokenheart

but your broke in heart

in your broken moments

avoiding the songs

i sang in the canyons of the orange
and brown land

the low sounding songs

that go infinite across the valleys

with the long setting sun

are you ever made of me

in the DNA of your heartbeat?

do i

do i

do i still breathe?

can we share the same arcing light?

is it okay to live?

Whom The Oak Trees Love

I go by the oaks to love you

to walk amongst the woodland grass

under moonlight or breaking sun

with effervescence
in forms of light

my face is insignificance
under shade

so I feel like someone passing

between two places in the hills
or
a million life times in the stars

this is love that moves my human ankles
over dusty rocks of rust and red

this is the having of life

of rust and red from earlier comets
who bore gravitations and ellipses

as every journey or every moment
is an elliptical one

time is the now and the everlasting

that is what the oak trees tell me
when they tune my neurons among them

they share the tones of an unending song

the tones of transmigration

Paradigmatic Feelings

From these oak trees I have loved.
You are not in a land of oak trees.
You are not in a land of trees.
Cement, metal, bricks and barriers
have become your companions.
So I turn to the oak trees
and at night, under stars
they shepherd the feelings of the
Universe
to send to your heart
enveloped by
radio waves and cellular signals
and I lie down on the prairie of Texas
to love you,
to make a new kind of paradigm
with acorns, ants and pebbles,
to dream of an infinite kingdom of
children and the ageless somewhere
amongst the galaxies and galaxies.

The stars are the vows of our marriage,

what is mortal and immortal between us.

The Horse That Runs

I am horse

You do not love me

I will run and run

under night sky or blazing sun

across the Umbrian plains

or the chalk fields of Texas

and when I tire

I will lay down to rest

beneath a rusted oak tree

with ants crawling at my legs

my salivation to the grass
and lonely wind

I rest and rise to continue
the unending trek towards you