2. makom kadosh/sacred space

west

she stands small beneath a thrum of
falling water, long tresses of wavy black hair
fishtail the backs and sides of her knees 

trickles of air along her belly and back
join the water's communion with her skin 

spread wings of wet gravity 
trace her outline 
as tho hand carved to hug her form 

her hands dance the smooth parts of space and submerging 
through the playful harmony of her fingertips  

the small muscles of her checks 
brush the warm weight of bliss
tilt wide open lips to bask in the cool wetness

a chorus of splashes grab a last glimpse of themselves
in the roaring tides of her eyes
before folding
into the thick current of what lies ahead

she hums a simmering tune, chords in the shape of a
promise to remember each droplet with the same
perseverance she knows they will remember her

she rocks a small pool of glistening drops in her cupped palms 
surrenders their gentle cover across my trembling cheeks
an answer to my wordless question
it is how I know you, how water loves. 

north

his web of muscle flexed in
slow moving strength in
slow greeting the eternal
in each living fractal holding us in place

he offers himself to the whole balance of things
giving gravity her way between his twin souls

his electric blue communion
codes of deep purple twisting
force fields in wordless melodies
in small canyons of familiar
crystallizing each present

a chorus of green bloods
bless in ancient formulas of adaptation

swim cascades of our origins 
in a buttoned helix of form

he sips my reflection in the wide glint of his irises 
his clear heart breathing me
in the warm pull of its revolutions

he rests the ocean of his eyes beside the steel places inside me and I crumple into sobs
bright splashes of home coaxing each ache thru the easy glow of his understanding

in the rocked bow of his presence
my hiding soaks through me

his heart makes a shattered offering of each unbearable truth 
regrowing stronger from each pulsing root of its own ash

east

she wakes a gritty exuberance 
plucking first strings of light from the quiet cape of horizon
the bony hinges of her sleep unspool in mounting eagerness to drink the dawn
cords of memory like bells call her up from the depths of her dreaming 
like silk scarves through her flesh, matrices of differentiation climb
their beginnings to find her on the banks of today

she joins the chorus of branches arching into space 
a wiggled gratitude knitting her toes to the spinning orb of her home
as the ferris wheel of rotation swings her length through the dimming stars

the tender weight of her shoulder blades draw
smooth muscle across a dimpling ridge of doubts 

each time she offers her body to her wild love affair with wind 
she must shed the stubborn collection of her human inheritance
gusts of nervous wondering if this time the trembling whole of her trust 
will be abandoned to the hard ground 

she waits for
faith to rise in her like a mountain
for a holy grip of exhilaration to take her
tearing the remains of hesitation
as she tips her belly into flight

she eases along a tunnel of air
from her cozy cliffs edge
to where I am
toes kissing the tips of grasses
as she dips her body to the earth beside me

she wraps me in a basket of blood-warm wings
bone and skin and feathers weaving one in their encircling 
a long and sweet silence pours over us
as she waits for the dust of my disbelief to settle 

before she beckons me to part the folds of her consciousness
to inhale the clear springs of her neural pathways in which I am
a reflection of every perfect thing, in which I can know myself as
nothing other than this

south

the deep red juice of a black plum 
dives from her chin in fat drops
she surveys her turmeric yellow dress
and approves the update, a dotted
outline seeming to form above the
plump flesh of her heart

the sticky sweet rendering bulges and
twists inside the cross stitches of the fabric,
spilling open like the back flips of young petals  

liters of symbols, halos of formulas, sectioned
like they’re cupping the golden meat of a citrus
fruit form a library of geometry chattering between
each echo of its familiar

dissolved in a ruddy grin, she lets the teachings
of the four quadrants of the heart slip their secrets

how to pour one’s want in the full draw of another’s welcome
to receive another’s fiery living into our own flesh 
to be undone anew in each union 
to let go when time trails her magenta sunset
across our reaching

when she tires of her game, her limbs glide
threads of light tapping parting dances with
their leafy offspring 

she pauses before slipping from her dress 
into the salty prism mounting around her

to rest her flickering eyes in mine, to let me
know she knows I was watching the whole time