the five elements

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There is

a florescent light in the ceiling tile

that connects to the cinderblock wall

that connects to the amber tile floor

that reaches the foot of your plain bed

that holds your aching body.


There is

a nurse by your side

that touches your shoulder

and a doctor at your feet

shaking his stern cold head.


There is

a butcher knife between your shoulder blades

and a fork between your legs.


There is

a spoon in your throat

and tooth picks pricking your eyes

‘til they overflow

and drip onto your gown.


There is

a hard plate against your forehead

that holds the weight of their judgment.

There is

a mixer on the table

where he’s grinding your heart.


There is

a bracelet on your wrist

that scratches scars into your arm.


There is

another person in the room.


There is

a skeleton hanging from the ceiling

and it has teeth and bones

so familiar.

There is

a phone in its hand

that’s awaiting anxious news

There is

heartbreak in its empty face.

There are

clothes that fell from its bones

and onto your bed.

There is

the doctor leaving the room.


There is the plate against your head.

There is the fork between your legs.

There is the spoon in your throat,


There is the skeleton that stares without eyes

at your clothes on your bed.

There are your hands that move

from your eyes to your breathless mouth

holding your grinding teeth

to your empty chest

to the fork between your

bleeding legs.


There are your hands

that shove the plate of judgment on your forehead to the ground,

pry out the fork and the toothpicks and the butcher knife.

There are your hands

that empty the mixer and fill your chest.

There are your feet that reach the floor and shuffle.

There are your hands that pull ‘til your clothes are on

and cover it all.

There are your hands

that find the grace to hold the grief of death in your heart

and courage in your new bones.


There are your arms

that wrap your body together like a baby.


There are your pale white cheeks

that catch the metal dripping from your eyes.

There is your spine that knows

the tomb of water awaiting your homecoming.

There are skeletons of times past

that float in those waves

who will rejoice in your swimming deeper

to carry out a spark of fire

from the depths of your ocean

so they can all see again.


There is your skeleton hanging from the ceiling

that connects to the cinderblock walls

that connect to the window

that looks out to the sunrise.


There are leaves of trees already struck by Fire and Mother.

Now they drift weeping to the ground

returning home, pulling in and down

dying to live anew…


There is

still a life for you to bring light to.




She calls on Water

and asks me what happens

when I descend with him

into the unknown.


I pause and look down,

my hands touch and weave.

The sun on my arm

shyly dawns

from the dark night of my sleeve.


My eyes well up as I say

We go deep,

so deep into that space

and hold each other

in revered embrace…


So simple –

I talk and he reflects,

his silence –

the architect of respect…


There, Times’ tired hands

rest and unwind


Futures imagined no more…

A dream of us appears

as I’ve seen it before…


We stand at a waterfall,

who’s daunting yet kind

who grinds us ‘til we know

we are aligned and combined…


The alchemy of perception

happens through its own vow

Here histories long past

know their life to be now.


There’s magic in the night

Potency rears her fine head

Unknowing insight once percolated

from soil that bled red.


The Water that falls

knows Her way up as well…


She cradles the darkened

groans of our heart

imparting them as the wisest of art.


His presence is mine

so inconceivably kind

We see through the illusion

of Time’s deep confusion.


This is the end of the endless vision…


I come back to his voice

as he says he knows

what I am to him

when he abides in his shadows…


Funny, I say in response,

when we slip to the unknown

and blindly roam

you say I’m your north star,

and you’re my home.


The café now feels steeped in water

The sun on my arm drifts quickly to sleep

as I tug down the dark night of my sleeve

and use it to catch grateful tears

as Time slips on his gears.




Silhouettes of trees

want to stretch through my fingers

reclaiming their being

as mandalas with meandering lines

on the drapery of this crinkled paper…

A life with new form

cut down and sliced thin

forced to flatten their roundness

and tallness of vision

I see who they want to be again.


She trained herself out of answering

the pleading of women under the ground

for Mother is still cold and pregnant with their souls.

Their minds sleep restless in landscapes of darkness

their eyes still forming the capacity to cradle

the emptiness needed to perceive.


She saw me the moment I emerged

from the delighted tunnel in the ground

and watched me as I wandered through her barren meadow

toward the familiar profile of brown crooked things.

She saw my curious mind rejoice in how they stretched up

to a sapphire ceiling holding a sparkling fare.

She waited as my mind thought thoughtlessly

about the peculiarity of this precision of vision,

about how they stretched above me

instead of around and below.


She saw the moment I felt at home

in the space between their stretched out bellies.

She knew I could feel the affection and protection

and nurturing devotion

just the same as before I could see them.

Right then she heard my song

fall down from the bubbling wells in my heels

and rise up from the tallest part of me

like gentle smoke knowing trajectory.


Owl sees the full scope of me in my song

my light airy acoustic and discordant bass

that syncopate and sequence in full-bellied space

She saw me and swooped down behind

from the darkening velvet I want to touch

My eyes drift shut in delight and tenderness

I can see her taking care of me

until my hair mirrors her snow white feathers

All the while I paint the wise voices and cries of the trees

and the plants and soil, and the wind

that carries the blush, saturation

luminosity and stain

of forgotten songs and ancestral vision

The trees reclaim their being in a world made of them

I see who I will be through times’ end

as I see who they want to be again.

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If love is the essence of our nature

then you have become the anchor to my home within homes

As we stretch and take new form

we quench the world, a gentle storm…

We tug the layers off the soles

of our thousands of feet

as to watch the wander

of caring abandon and sprawled out wonder…

No sunglasses or sweatshirts or dullness of vision

No elements pin us to single position

Because when I stroke your back,

lying next to you

the universe finds cosmos in

freckles in queue…

If to be is to be perceived

and to know thyself is only possible

through the eyes of the other

is there realness in my self or another?

Is there fabric in the soles of my feet, or fingers or toes?

Or “me”, or “you” or all these grand shows?

I will love you, yes this I swear

as in this moment and beyond all space and time

we cease and begin again as “two” divine “ones”

As we dissolve there will be only love

no wrong or right or below or above

no measure of beauty or grace or wretchedness

Unshackled, love far beyond a trace of “you”

You ignite me to the nature of what’s true.

I will love you

until we cease to appear as two…

There, in the fabric of that fruitful space

pure love, our only remaining trace…




I remember so long ago

head spinning and numb

dread scraping low

into the underbellies of my eyes

Full and fuller

‘til they spilled over…

I remember the rotting leaves

around exposed tree roots

cozied in their deep crevices


I begged them to show me

what comfort is…


Grief finds his anchor

Hollowness vacates

my erupting eyes

and finds his reservoir

in my creaking stomach

Food is its only prayer

Mind is afraid to care


Panic found her kingdom

deep in my heart

She put my pulse to rest

all consciousness caressed

and lured to a forced refuge

to the darkest depths

for nurturing breaths…


I remember fearing my own

craving for starvation.

I believed myself

worthy of damnation

unless I held someone up

to their salvation.


I relive this often

years long past

wondering when will be the last

trace of this horror film

still haunting my dreams

Just bearing witness to it

still tears me open at the seams…


When had I denied myself

the last taste of sweetness?

How did I remember

the call in my parched lung

and fall to a run

down, down, so far down

I journey to underworlds

through the veins of trees

that have sent honeyed kisses

lingering in the breeze


When I finally feel Her embrace

Mother whispers

with the power to erase –


Reach close, my love

Be still, my heart

Know you’re my art

I’ve awaited your vision

past Minds’ division

and inhibiting indecision

Remember you are me

and I am you

as you wake to your craft

you birth me anew

Paint yourself into being

Death lives long and wild

while Life dies beguiled

Love you as you love others

See the dissolve of intimate lovers


Embrace every emotion

Abandon permanent notion

To free yourself here

means freedom everywhere

in all times and timelessness

through space and spacelessness


Up is down, my love

Look deeper…

Future is past

Within is without

Awake is asleep

Separation is the rout

that carves the air

to nowhere…

Nourish yourself before another

This, you find in me, your Mother

Find the unity in severance

Watch it unfold in deep reverence

Absorb the texture of us

Again, as we appear to meet…

Do you remember a taste or embrace so sweet?

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xx, Luna