that I had a beehive
here inside my heart.
And the golden bees
where making white combs
and sweet honey
from my old failures…
Why does the new moon give anyone hope?
Nevertheless it does and always has for me
and likely does for that Mexican poet with no pesos,
maybe a couple of tortillas, chewing them while sitting
on a smooth rock beside a creek in the Sierra Madres
seeing the new moon tilted delicately away from Venus,
the faint silver light, the ever-so-small sliver
of white enamel rippling in the creek, the same moon,
he thinks, that soothed the Virgin in her great doubt
over the swollen belly beneath her breasts.
The fatherless son had two new moons in his forty days
in the wilderness, the second one telling him it was time
to become God and enter the beast of history.
This poet, though, ignores the sacraments of destiny
and only wants a poem to sing the liquid gift of night.
Paco de Lucia - the great Spanish Flamenco Guitarist. This sparks and ignites in all the right ways. #flamenco #cantejondo
May and the green trees rage,
White sap burned up
into leaves. Turn
and beneath the branches see
the actual air
moving, hesitant, green.
This is when the soul knows
it has a body,
to leave it.
In the morning, bowed
under blue rain, geese beat
their heavy way back
to the city-state
of mud. Rising, the wings groan,
trying to fly away
from the body.
was hard, the cold broke
weak and strong, together. Stay
and watch the robins scream
over scattered barley.
This is how we came to
love this life
Forgiveness looks beautiful on everyone.Angel Nafis (via andrewgibby)