Vipers don't need to pine or coil 

They loll on large temples 

Languidly scanning 

Soaking up sun

Undisturbed and focused 

Listening 

I spot them so easily 

it makes no difference if they have the triangular head because they don't really move 

they're not supposed to leave that beautiful space 

Just know that if you're clumsy 

at sunset

that's when you're a nuisance.  

Stepping on the loose Path 

as they make their routine glide 

back to their cool rock.  

That's on you.  

Why not just stay on that temple 

watch the sunset 

and go home after dark.  

It's your sunset too and the dark is not scary.  

You can be the carrier pidgeon.  
You can never stop you can never soften 
you can be you you can be childless 
you can be scathing 
you can be a killer 
you can play chess around me and move on every square 
you can be the queen or the king or the night or the wing. 


I want to touch that wing is all.   
And wrap myself through this carpet.   
Let me thread myself inside your being I'm not here to hurt you


You can leave and leaving can be our arrival.  
Leaving can be our language.   
We can learn to love leaving.   
Leaving each other can be our bliss and our connection 
leave me a million different ways 
from different parts of me next to yours.  

Over my tiny speaker I hear
the tinny twang of his guitar strumming a gentle,
somber song of pleading devotion his voice lilting on lyrics
longing for his lover as I muse on you
o gentle mother
between us a river
may just as well be an ocean independence fireworks blossoming in undulating cacophony
every pop and burst
unsettling my love song
And he sings, “there goes my life”
My fingers ache
I’ve been twisted and ripped holding onto this life
and what lovely pose
did you strike
showing your starlets
your muscled modeling replete with Pilates perfection entreat to melt in my mouth the notes of song
when earlier I
sauntering down the sidewalk dared whistle and hum
dared tangle my arm in yours near Lincoln Center

You did signal me to come
your beacon oscillating
over radio waves and
routed signals from the Ethernet. and you tasted my breeze
and liked it
and I was scared but kind
I pine
for the delicate,
melting morsels of your work those stage strewn vignettes Where do you rest your head to close your eyes
to draw the shades on those kind, silken cornflowers where golden curled tresses lay warm on your cheek
after you’ve tucked in
your babies
and wiped clean
your lashes
And the bombs have stopped and the ashes
gently float to earth
and the rain now falls bending the bows
running rivulets
to wash the ash away
Would your heart flutter,
like mine?
Would you warm
my dark, rainy earth
with your sunshine?

not written by me