Black

Black is fluid
    with movement full and wide
Etching dryness with its dampness
Impregnating the open.

As tears well in eye’s lowered lid
Concealing the revealing
    of the open.

Black flows

A thick, dark stream
    carrying suffering seed.
Implanted in the heart—
    in the open.

Colors

As a painter, I have learned to see color with more precision and confronted the many ways in which color is used to convey form, light, weight, and movement. I have explored color as symbol and science and yet it evades me. Color, like sound, is vibration. Each exists in relation to all the other colors. Each hue is part of a whole—the spectrum of light. How much of this spectrum are we able to see? Science says that we only see a fraction.

There is more to explore. But, for now, I will let the poems and images do their work.

Blue

Blue is empty
Endless
Light

I absorb it through my pores, my nerves.

All my tendrils extend
to meet its coming arrival.

I drink it in rhythm
through the core at the center

Expanding and contracting
with its far-ness and near-ness.

The Verge

On the brink.

I wait.

For a shimmer,
a glimmer,
a sound.

I wait.

Poised
to receive
that which
is yet to be.

I wait.

Without despair
or hope.

I wait.

On the verge.

Drops

The drops descend
one by one
markedly,
deliberately,
with benevolence.

And trust to be received
wholeheartedly,
by one who dares to love.

The drops descend
one by one
easing the way open
markedly,
deliberately.

To prepare the one
for the torrent
of grace yet to come.

The drops descend
one by one
to compose
one’s tears
of love
in kind.

 

Link

A ramshackle life I lead.
Minced away by time’s indifference.
Caring only for that single thread.
A line of hope.
Linking.

 

Direction

I sat here
all day
facing in the wrong direction—
Looking outside.
Wondering why it’s dark in here.
Who reminded me to turn around?

Inbetweens

The next series of poems and images speak to the place of being in between.

The image below was meant to serve as a representative of this place and the poem begins this series.

In-between

The heart has no location
except when there are two.

And in-between it comes to rest
for a moment.