_________ closing in ... }

when the moonlight shimmers across the courtyard
and a curtain of silver settles upon every living thing
when silence beseeches those who observe
your careful steps guided by a bloodstained feather
I may reach for your hand to show you
the moon on her cradle of cottonweave
but your eyes linger on the shadows of doubts
of fevered prayer and dizzening grief
blinded by something you imagine
to be as real as those that claw at our innocence
my tears echo yours
my blood spills as yours
but our voices grow less in harmony with
every passing word
I still believe in the creature that spreads his golden sheet
upon the troubled world
I still believe in the fragments of happiness within your heart
I can stand here in the dim court
as numb as the dancers who waltz a waltz of numb
I may speak of health and help and hope
but a coat of crimson descends and hides me from view
I may shout and reach and die
but if you do not listen
I know the reason why
I know and yet I linger still
weariness drips from my limbs
as fluid and fleeting as angry blood
I know and yet I linger still
I ask nothing and yet I ask the world
do not wish for that superfluous wish
for only regret can come of this

first dance
--
after the merriment of the evening
stubborn in my colors, i refused
to believe in what i had seen
and yet something called me
it called me back into being
your sideways smile left me wondering
have you spun life on its end?
questions whirl like flowing skirts
in that seat of waltz, two figures
you and i, staggering to believe
that we, too, could amount to something.
just you and i as the cold ashes
of what could have been,
what could be,
settled around our heads like halos
decrepit and forgotten and given-up-on
and yet we continued to dance
as if we knew what we were doing
as if we had a chance
and the grim fear faded
and the music slowed
and everything ceased to exist
except your eyes
so wide and bright, a window
into the lighter shades beyond.
i don't know what i felt then
or what i feel now--
but if it is rosy, dawn-colored,
or a tender red,
then i believe in the
miracles of a clumsy evening.
so be it,
whatever this is,
so be it.

prism
--
what is
feeling his colors without seeing them
what is
the quiet thrill of whisper and skin
what is
the tightness of strings i cannot manage
what is
that light
that sweet sweet light and pale hues
in his eyes, in his touch, in his heart
and in mine
what is
dissolving the hollowness
what is
the promising echo
i think i know
this elusive four-letter word
that moves mountains rather than flattens them
that guides the strings rather than breaks them
that heals and
that transcends the shape of souls,
the color of hearts,
the perception of sides
should our star fade tomorrow,
i will go with my hand in his
no fear,
no anger--
just the warmth refracting
through half-trembling souls
and clasped fingers

crown
--
i can still hear the ring
of a porcelain ideal shattering
to the floor
as if it were yesterday--
and maybe it was
i have either turned my back
on all i know
or i have outgrown
these worthless wings.
hold my hand, trembling boy.
never let go because
i'll use these pitiful wings to fly,
fly, fly on the lighter shades
of sky and soul.
let's leave the cold spread
of pale china pieces behind
let's leave it to those
who linger in the past.
we have no pasts, you and i
and if we do, it is far removed
because the colors change
and even scars diminish,
leaving only a shimmer-foolish
hope for the future...
but it is our hope
it is a crown of heather
rather than stars,
but it is our crown
and if we do not wear it
who will?

To lose your warmth, no more sweet breath;
no longer heal the wounds life left;
to wander endless miles on,
awakening long after dawn--

That is the price I pay today,
the day I turned and went my way.

To feel the warmth, to breathe your breath;
to heal the wounds that hardship left;
love and lust, I was a pawn
and to you only a liason (so help me God--
I must go on)--

Brick by brick I'll make my road
with these confessions as my load.
Once the inches turn to miles,
no longer shall I be a child.

To lose your warmth, no more sweet breath;
no longer heal the wounds life left;
One thing I have always known,
written in these bricks of stone

and tears and blood this mortal shed:
This road was meant to tread, alone.