Listen to the stars
while they shed
the final echoes
of their song
so that some day
into the distance
long ahead of us
others on another
world will hear our
own decomposition.



Grasping that magic remains 
the framework upon which 
our existence rests 
we must hold our breaths 
without the hollow reeds
to carry us hidden downriver 
stacking up into thatch-roofed houses 
we blow our dreams through
to set them afloat 
on the sea of eternity
which is to say 
the fire it takes to burn
those homes down 
would never have been set
without the water with which to douse them 
and from which all their kindling grew 
into the fallen monarchs of the forest 
we are so deeply within we cannot be seen 
even to ourselves 
when discovering each other 
in a place where darkness
becomes impossible 
while time unwinds 
from the stellar depths 
haunting us all visibly
each night while we exhale 
our pent up sleep
so we may reawaken 
the following morning
to a brand new day 
having secured that 
after all 
we are



The passage of spirits through time 
describes us; one soul refracted.
What came first, the beat or the heart? 
Of course, they are inseparable
aspects of the same thing. The difference 
between them and epochs of galactic evolution 
amounts to YOU and ME.  This swiftly becomes 
all that we can know about it. Every cell in our 
bodies has captured a drum beat, like a bird 
in a cage, or a hair emerging from a single pore.
The lashes of the eyelids, the glossy vitreous mirror 
of the cornea, pivoting on the center of its own 
self-reflection; the distance between a black hole 
and a star: that's precisely what we are.
Like spun nickels on an iced over pond,

we unfold. Holograms of silver trees
lined up on the looking glass.
Drinking the scene in on our knees
with our vision as moths migrate 
beneath the moon.