flight and contemplation

metaphysics is the drag and
lift of some aerodynamic dream
cradling you to the height where
your head scrapes cloud but
you look up and find only
the heave and sensuality
of the breath of God.

left for dead

folded up into a puddle of
blue-stained nightmare
she woke from the bottom
of the bathtub, shivering.

strange because
the tap was turned
all the way to the right,
streaming showerhead rain over
her best dress and dreams
hitherto undisclosed;

maybe it was the nakedness
that caused the goosebumps.

last night i dreamt

i was a princess; this morning
i looked out with disoriented eyes,
dizzy like the laughing child of five i once saw
in Venice, strewing confetti
as she spun along the quay
in a pink dress and plastic wings, flying;
i saw the words you
had spilled at my feet,
picked them up piece
by piece and tucked them away
in the empty space between
your arms and
the center of my soul,
safe for a rainy day.