a quick prayer.

“Kintsugi”

You found how to fill like gold to hold

together the cracks of my broken body,

an art form that requires destruction

of the formal self

followed by the acceptance of others

in order to create

completion.

Now in the land of

whites of their eyes

I hope I translate well.

For even though Asian pastures that

we’ve never touched

can pin us with exactness,

in farmhouse we have made our home,

and I have set my vase upon hope.  

you're dear to me.

Shall we get intimate again?









I think so, I think so.

little confusions

what hurts and what is right?
                  you are here, fully equipped
                  with fireplace and candles.
At night, I try to make my mattress full
with your presence by
tossing and turning and filling it with sea water.
I try to pull real, sophisticated imagery out of your lips
but, we prepare breakfast in a different set of circumstances.
Before this, my room is bright and you, in turn, are glowing with us.
I want to know what you think as you send me to space.
The moon, vases breaking.
Leave your mark on my neck
and other places.