Eyes of Molten Steel

how do I paint the world
that breathes inside me?
staid colours
cramped brushes
walled palettes
belonging
to another world,
all speak half truths,
when there are so many colours,
containers and strokes,
that have never been seen
by eyes trapped in pupils
straining to see
only the visible,
even in a changing
invisible world
lit up by eyes
of molten steel.

Boredom

this boredom
is a waiting room -
a pause
within
a spinning pause;

sometimes,
a fish tank
with roving eyes,
prying open
a masked existence;

sometimes,
a magazine picked up
from a corner rack,
filling
an unmistakable hollow
with a fleeting delight
of forgotten selves;

sometimes,
muted piped music
pulsing through
a sleepy heart
ruminating on the speed
of turning wheels;

often,
a necessary sabbatical,
nudging a self
to get back
in conversation
with an ordinary life
that's always alive.

Space

and it wasn't until
a gust of salt wind
struck the stiffened jaws
of my pinched face,
that I even knew
I was stuck

in a small, tight room
I had made my home;
unopened windows
now open,
billowing lungs
inspired to purge
and stretch
into the divine aroma
of a long breeze,

converging eddies
in deep pools,
wind and water
leave veins of salt
and empty riverbeds
exploding
with a passion
to breathe,
to feed life,
to live, and
to live well.

simple joys

when you speak,
I wish I could feel
the wind dancing
through every pore
of your glowing skin,

when you laugh,
I wish I could curl up
in the corners of your smile,
and watch the world light up
as I jiggle myself to sleep,

when you move,
I wish I could follow
the lines and curves
of your fluid body
in their timeless postures,

when you grow silent,
I wish I could drop
into the mysterious folds
of your heart
to hear its unbroken song,

when you rest,
I wish I could catch
the fragrance of your breath,
lying still and alive
in the space within,

I wish I could be with you
in the simple joys
of meeting, of merging -
mind to mind,
heart to heart,
skin to skin.