[martires with marina 2]

i.

it was the green sea
thick
that held them
lots of little fingers
swaying branches
a tender touch
the storm was a plum
how could I have forgotten how much I love you?
the sky tells me to remember.

it's time to go
seashell hair
tortoise freckles
in the shallows
it's really hard to let go
the storm is a plum
laughter in a language I don't understand
a river
not as tired as it used to be
it was the green sea that held them
fingers but no palms
the perfect chesnut
sweet but a little like a tin can
that clatters down the road
a celebration and a
kite, it's getting late she says
i don't have any more words
tonight there are no stars
there are ten thousand tin cans
in the sea
a conversation six days late
like a shadow
over two cups of tea
i am tired
but not hungry
when
five minutes rest
and the crunch of a boot
sickens
there is a puddle
a burnt scalp
a poppy
one euro to see a home inside a cave
it is blue
higher than the others
he kisses the trunk
involuntary smile
I could not capture
obedience humility trust
it is dusk in the city
but noon in this garden
will you hold me as I have been held?
arms attached to fingers
fingers like branches
thick relief
the gate is not closed
there is still a place to sit
chipped green paint
communion dresses
splay in the water
cat cries
slow and soft
but hard to hear---
i'd like to hold you back
no waves bursting
just chests
here, my hands clenched
for you, an offering
honest but not clear
it was a mirror
a mosaic
of simple things

ii.

thank you
i'm sorry
just a little
dizzy in the salt
slippery seaweed
too many tongues
in a bathtub
and the clothes all over the floor
a faulty drain
gives not takes away
i hope that i can learn
how to swim.

[martires with marina 1]

she picks the rosemary
more than is rightfully hers
it is the golden hour
too soft to burn
let's hope the mountains white
are willing to share
the day is a question:
how?

passing through

and yet 

somehow i already know

that i will never want to do this again

that i will never again want the warm curve of your neck

(well yes i will want it but i will never get there)

we will not make mistakes

like i did before.  you are not like that.

you do not make mistakes so lightly.

and when you do i hate it.

hate to see you regress. we will not kiss

again. that apartment, you will move 

out of. you will graduate. you will not

say my name anymore. only sometimes. you will

want to be friends. i do not know if i will be able to.

if i am able to, i will never be able to go back

again. to ignore the way we clash in favor of the

way the curves of our bodies fit together. to forget

the knot in the bottom of my stomach, in favor for

the pleasure of watching you dancing.

watching you dancing

watching you dancing

i think that is what will hurt me the most.

even as i always knew

what i knew. that i was just a phase

you were passing through.

march fifteenth

reading my own words
makes me fall in love with the idea of
sorrow again. drowning has its
benefits. how are you? i want
to type out, touch the iceberg.
but fear. of tongue sticks. and jabs.
real. of being beyond the story.
i am still trying to get beyond the
story now. to get beyond The End.

christchurch

and today for some reason
i find myself unable to breathe
periodically. later the
news pain like the holes of
a sieve, the sand keeps
pouring through. caught particles
like the jolt of air in my throat.
the sudden panic, the sudden pain.
to offer beauty will take time.
to rise above when everything
pulls down. how to understand.
how to remember. how to honor and
how to live. sometimes (most times)
i am unsure. in and out. i am unsure.

are you reading this?

sitting here i’m drowning

drowning in what i used to be

and how many words i gave you

they poured out of me like a river

and you caught them in your hands

but that was yesterday

and now we can’t understand

the languages that we’re speaking

will never be the same

you keep on calling my name

but i can’t hear it anymore

Tú

Como olas
regresando a mi,
tormentas momentaneos que me preocupen por días después.
Los pedazos de madera en ciclos en la playa.
Ciclos y círculos que no puedo cerrar.

--

(You)

Like waves
returning to me,
momentary storms that worry me for days after.
The pieces of wood in cycles on the beach.
Cycles and circles that I can't close.

digging

i didn't want it to be like this
our lives intertwined like
a vine on a lampost
yours a straight line vector
and mine
clinging. vectors go in diagonals these days
bouncing off the panes of glass
that block my every day life. they
stand on the corner, in the middle of the street.
suddenly everything impenetrable.
suddenly everything see
through. i wanted
to walk without holding your
hand. to face the night
alone. noah says to speak in a russian
accent. how can i already be so
afraid of holding my
own hands. i didn't want it to be like
this. the little pit in the bottom of my stomach
unveiled. periodically. in half thoughts that
weigh my mind down. to remember i was
alone. that was my original point.
how to fit the dancing and the sleeping
the warmth of your cheek and easy
falling in with it all? how
to understand that things like friends are permanent
but somehow things like you
are not. when everything is impermanent?
i am digging myself
my own hole now.