Blindfold Off

The last line of defense
I was hanging by my fingertips
on faith, my faith
the final barricade
finally I’ve decided
you don’t love me
even if you said you did,
I’ve decided you’re not coming
even if you promised you would
I’ve decided for you
so I could decide for myself

I never put you to the test
never tried to see for myself
whether you would stop me
if I tried to leave,
always trusting in
the best possibility

but sometimes walking by faith
and not by sight
is pure folly,
especially when there is
this much to see:

our non-concentric loving
lost its centers
and there is nothing left
to do now but clean up
the mess and wake up tomorrow
and I walk in bigger and
bigger circles,
gathering up the feathers
from my broken plumage
that I discarded in order
to pay the price
of believing in you

I almost forgot I had wings

I remember even
the pain I was running away from
when the road led me to you
it’s still there
and now that I’ve decided
that you are not here
I will have to go back on
my own stubborn direction
and face it
because loving you did nothing
to make it go away
and I’ve decided
there is no lesser evil
neither you nor him
it’s just the same dark face
in opposite corners of the room
whose walls have caved in
from the burden of
my absence

I’ve decided I am
where you are not.

Descended from Job

And if there has to be a death, God
please let it be quick
the things about my soul
the color of the lens before my eyes
the song that my faith walks to
the premises of my dreams
and my love,
my precious love
for which I forsook everything
and sacrificed everything
that I protected at all costs
the most beautiful parts of me
if You’re that intent, o God
in your plan that
they must not survive
let the end come now, please
while my spirit is taking respite
from its innate defiance
I never gave in to the world, God
You saw me
I never let up for them, but
I willingly surrender them to You
everything I’ve held important
all my life,
if they first have to be taken
as a requirement for there
to be a rebirth, for me
to be reborn, then
take them now, when my
misguided strength has
slipped, and my heart
is too broken to hold on,
do it now, if You will do it at all
if it’s the only way that’s left
for You to replace the things
I’ve wanted for as long as
I can remember,
if Your design is to perfect me
and who I am now
stands in the way,
get me out of my own way
if my steadfastness has evolved
into rebellion, quash it now
and strike me to the ground
but please,
get it over with
because it’s hurting too much now
I don’t think I can last
that much longer subdued
by this lingering pain
it’s killing me
and if this death is Yours,
hold my hand
just so I know
this series of losses
is preparation, not abandonment
show me Your hand,
that I could be assured
that the only reason why
it has to fall apart
is because I’m about to be
made whole,
that I’ve been resisting it,
and it’s only for my own good
if I can believe it
until it’s done hurting
until the veil lifts
I’ll stop fighting Your will
long enough for You
to put Your wisdom
on me.

Natural Death

It’s that moment
when you turn off the radio
because the music is
no longer as comforting
as you remember, but
you’ve been so unaccustomed
to the silence
so when the silence descends
you feel uneasy and out
of your bearings for some time.

Your heart is cold,
and so is mine.
You’ve been lost to me even
long before I tried to love you,
long before I succeeded.
My heart is cold,
and so is yours, and
it takes way less, now
to let go of something
once cherished
than before,
but it still takes every bit
of pain as it always has
to live with a decision made
with a heart that is only
recently coming to terms
with how cold it’s become.

It’s only my pen that
catches dusk, now
and only the paper that
gets entangled with dawn.
September and
wasted time come around
unannounced, now
like an unfaithful lover
tiptoeing at 3 a.m.
to the bedroom where the
blind faithful lies sleeping.
There’s no longer passion
between these sheets,
even if a sophisticated
eloquence remains.
The blood that used to fuel
the fire between our bodies
has become so thin and
diluted it can no longer
bind to the walls.
Doesn’t even stain, when we
get cut and it spills
on our words, anymore.

And it takes only a moment
of fear, to sever a heart from
what it’s been too weak to hold
to begin with.
A moment of startling cold.
It instinctively embraces itself,
tastes blood,
remembers everything,
in flashes.
Entertains a ribbon of regret.

Then nothing.
Only a flat line and white noise.

Sometimes I’m Beautiful

Some nights the sky
is a solid teal
as if painted on
and the garbled limbs
and barks of trees
against it feel
more real,
like bearers of a consequence
more pressing,
but therein lies
the deception

Some days the clarity
feels deeper than
what it’s supposed to illuminate,
as if ‘speed of light’
implies needing a highway
that goes on and on
for there to not be
some violent collision
resulting in substance and
space in hot pieces,
as if something as complete
as to be able to only
be either present or missing
needs an intermediate material
to probe into
in order to be

Sometimes that hard light,
that depthless dark
merely glaze over
and for a fleeting instant
the excess pounds and fine lines
don’t show, sometimes
the marks of failure and shame
just bounce off the exterior
and I appear as untouched
by the aspect of experience that
scars you for life
and for one illusory moment
I am more beautiful than
I ever give myself credit for

it never lasts,
just a fraction of an angle
within a fluid movement, where
the right shadow finds me
just a sliver of forgiveness
from the searching
scrutiny of age
just a random directionality
of wind on hair, on fabric

but when I do
catch my reflection
bearing that grace
I always wish I could
scrape them off the surface
of the mirror
and bottle them up,
those elusive drops
of my own rarer essence
to save them
until you can see me
to be consumed by you only
and maybe I could trade it for
a bigger likelihood
of your loving me

Falling towards June

I am the map of scents
that calls out to you
from peopled distances,
homing pigeon
the nostalgic sky
the punctual sea

I am your recurring dream
the room with the door
that opens into another room
the karma you can’t escape from
the spool of coiled hope
bottle green
glowing from within

I fall into you
like a garden of meteors
burning up
smashing sacrificially
into your stratosphere
counting on its beauty from
traversing the cosmic hallways
of a thousand light-years
to break into your
complexly assembled defense
if only for an instant,
maybe two
draw a line across the void
an indelible memory
silver knife-thin
to accompany you
when you close your eyes

I fall towards that black hole
powerful vacuum of
a gentleman’s promise
and pile up, refugee-like,
all my 27 birthdays and investments
as supporting pillars under
the loading dock on the pier
where I shall meet you,
in June,
the graceful and magnificent
older sister that April and May
will always secretly nurture
ambitions of becoming,
the way every man envies you
for being the sole object of
this heart’s
freefall evolution
into immortality
the clairvoyant sky
the anachronistic sea

Passengers’ Manifest

Go ahead and jump and
swim to shore
my moment will come

I’m just waiting
for the words to run out
I’m not skimming the blue
looking for new ones
because your warmth
has frozen over
you no longer have
your hands on me
they have moved on
to touch other flesh
you no longer have
your eyes on me
they have gotten tired of
watching these same old things
and there’s nothing left
to show, really
if my deep ocean
cannot sustain you
there’s nothing I can do

I am the captain of this ship
and I can abandon it now
that I’ve seen it responsibly
through sharp rocks and storm
of its doomed voyage

just a few more waves
a final ebb and flow
a slow, affectionate goodbye
to the tides that had
carried me this far
I said I’d stay
just a little longer
knowing that
my days are numbered
just like my words

so that when all of this ends
and my heart is dead
and all the metaphors fall
into the hands of someone else
and all the dreams
lay their sweet heads
on someone else’s sleep
and love no longer sets me free
it would be a complete
motion picture
with proper credit
where credit is due—
and I won’t be accused
of lying
when I tell somebody someday
that once, I loved you

A Night with Aleph-Null Moons

I will compress all eternity into a week,
if that’s all you can spare
I will concentrate happily ever after
into a single kiss,
if that’s all we’ll ever share

I will take
all the elbow room and breathing spaces
and collect along the margins of
time differences and busy schedules
all the ways of how do I love thee
take lessons from a diamond and
learn the secrets of the Big Bang
so I can pack an all-encompassing love
into a dense and potent capsule
that I can slip into your wineglass
that first night

imagine being able to
move mountains and reverse waterfalls
in a fraction of the time that it takes
for two people to fall in love,

then every flash of a photograph
is a honeymoon in Europe—
every minute of a sunrise
is a five-course breakfast in bed—
every silver raindrop in free fall
is a library of conversation—
between color changes of the traffic light
we’d have argued and made up,
and grown stronger in love—
when the elevator is broken,
every step we take on the stairs
is an anniversary celebration—
and every stitch of desire’s tapestry
is the weft and warp of all nights
of consummated pleasure
from one full moon to the next

if we can’t have a lifetime
let’s make an hour more than enough

so when we say goodbye,
and there’s really nothing left,
our remaining years can fall away
like soft petals
severing themselves, languidly
from the universe within
the stamen of a newborn Eden,
a life well lived,
a love well spent,
and we won’t have to concern ourselves
with any time we might have wasted.