Caution: Poets


When I left him last night there was an angsty feeling we wouldn’t name. This morning I was awake at 5am knowing he was putting a small bag with toothbrush and a change of clothes in the trunk of his car and heading to the hospital. We did talk about that part, but not a lot. Instead, I told him how the pear blossoms blew across the road thick as a blizzard as I drove south on Metcalf. This slowed me down. That’s why I was late. That’s why I forgot my business cards and got lost. He reminded me that all who wander are not lost.

Mostly, we discussed faith and doubt . . . how fear and anger and regret propagate more of themselves in proportion to the energy we feed them . . . that only Love itself can teach us how to love.

~ Liana

In Love, His Grammar Grew

karekare sand

In love, his grammar grew
rich with intensifiers, and adverbs fell
madly from the sky like pheasants
for the peasantry, and he, as sated
as they were, lolled under shade trees
until roused by moonlight
and the beautiful fraternal twins
and and but. Oh that was when
he knew he couldn’t resist
a conjunction of any kind.
One said accumulate, the other
was a doubter who loved the wind
and the mind that cleans up after it.
                                           For love
he wanted to break all the rules,
light a candle behind a sentence
named Sheila, always running on
and wishing to be stopped
by the hard button of a period.
Sometimes, in desperation, he’d look
toward a mannequin or a window dresser
with a penchant for parsing.
But mostly he wanted you, Sheila,
and the adjectives that could precede
and change you: bluesy, fly-by-night,
queen of all that is and might be.
~ Stephen Dunn

the beach tree

beach tree

you drink the ocean from

a cup… you break the plate

of all used up …you

make the bed with

life unsaid you speak

in hopeful shooting stars

you reach the gate…

the fathom’d breachless

lull of wait …of treading

in the Yes You Are

one day closer than too far

© Liana 3/15 from That Thing You Do