the adoration of another conflicted kanuk

I love my mom
with unabashed cliche,
when we hug, when we
telephone, cross this kanuk-country

she used to play guitar,
plaints and paradisios mostly,
laying licks in a mushy maudlin key,
while thinking of my wee brother
billy and me,
fatherless sons,
a long way off,
left behind to be,
educated in the street,
especially the back alley,
by bees and blossoms, too early, too early,
by black-billed Magpies cawing in the trees,
by movies, music and whom-ever… Continue

I see water as a movable-crystal, alive with many reflections, within which fractal-clusters assemble, like a snow-flake, then melt into another new glimmer of intelligent design, while easily modulated by intentional-percepts, landmarks and the numinous-fingers of planets and stars which form the sounds of words, I find.

The language of wind in the cadence of your heart-beat again, via lungs that swell to a twisting tongue that forms the words so well, free-formed from a water-crystal in your… Continue

it's easy to remember

you in these pictures;

light's language of shadow

sculpting time

and

you are there

like a shell pounding out the sea,

laying back on the beach,

head sideways, your eyes closed,

knees buckled in the air

open to the Sun's

fingers of light reaching,

glistening there



I've not been the Sun

in your darkened places

since

the day you offered yourself

to the sky,

the day

I succumbed… Continue

it's in-between the breath,
that silent-turn,
from deep inside,
rolling a-round
with the sound,
until it forms an awe

or wonder, too
that your tongue
inflects a tipping-out,
passing by lips still wet with kiss,
where trembling-air begins
to vortex 'n curl like waves upon a beach,
push'd in inner-ear as ocean sound,
re-sound again as bliss -

and further into this, your whirl'd
of curl'd synaptic-brain,
where lightning sings,
into a flashing of your eyes,
as if an eye could gleam,
between you an… Continue

Atlas pondered

- the yoke we bear in time is space,
the domain in which we view,
all that's done comes back again,
because we chose it to

-- when we look even deeper then,
again we look some more,
what we thought the weight of the world,

is really its only door ...