i.

And I have decompressed time into the face
of my Beloved.

Solemnly.
Delightfully.
Righteously,
I compress the sighs of my life
into breath, one after the other,
for the fruit falls not far from the tree
and its branches sing praise to the sky.

Smoke inside a bubble is still smoke, our shadows
rise above.

ii.

Congregational prayer session
Like the village market I used to go
This world filled with blares
Noises designed to deceive
Pleading to sell and to seduce
Babbling strange impenetrable tongues
Spreading fear of impending doom
With overwhelming wind of din
As earthquake, typhoon and tsunami
In the mist of this cacophony
Take a step and pull away
Listen to the indwelling spirit
The still small voice of the soul
And it shall be well with you

purity in the fires of ravage dreams
speaking talk
awake and lost

stars beneath and above
like heavens shine
and darkness dousing
rousing gardens of ghosts

you were there
once
in the grotto gate
the pale shadow
glimmer of a smile
the ripple of the
minutes settling
like a first
snow

I don't know what to say,
so I'll say nothing,
I don't know how to say it,
so I'll write a poem about nothing and
how not to say it,
I've followed every phase of the moon to be here now,
so here I am,
occupying earth,
her citizen.

I'm a one-woman marching band. Kindred
spirits have taken my hand, there is peace
in the jungle when the lion lies down with the lamb.
There is irony in the poem that finds its own way home.