They Part with Structured Tongues--

Made up of the regions of flavor,
as well the places which contact the palette
or the teeth to make sounds--the delicacies
of the imagined petals of a flower.
Pick whichever you like, they are wild,

As well mild, the eyes of young animals,
even those we intend to eat.
As well folded; the loves kept within her sheets
until the Spring, when they are hung out on lines
and parted as curtains in those breezes

for her to step out between
in a grand entrance to her unwitting play.
And you shall wave as a tree's branch
on the end of her symmetry, eyes to lips,
and darting away again to find the edge of a smile.

Such is an encounter with her, the heat of it,
As well a promise that you will find her sadness
at the center of your fourth long vowel
She casts her eyes away.
This is when you linger

On the line of her neck--
Imagine speaking a word,
As well fall into that silence as she groans:

Tell me of the those places you have long visited
in your heart, and I will show you
where my feet have taken me. And perhaps we
will meet in one of these spaces, and there breathe
a completion to that journey...

And only then will you form a perfect word to describe her.

from while we are among the dregs

And there is a plaster mold of his face, cut into a circle just before the ears, eyes closed, as though emerging from warm bathwater, an elastic strand fastened at each end with a thin aluminum dowel to the edge of the mask. He wears it into town for the farmer's market, and has another identical façade which he uses while making love. One for looking into a mirror. Another for discussing history with friends. Still another for seduction. The masks are indistinguishable, save to him. And he cannot continue without applying the correct one.

Of the two forms of love--potential and loss--we will sometimes consider which is more abiding, and therefore more real.

Into your distances, glancing silences, nervous prevarications, exclamations and subsequent trailings off, I find myself compelled--the folding of space into soft green leaves, woven together as a tunic and placed among the neatly gathered red and yellow sands in the garden, there in the center, and it may only be the illusion of a labyrinth, because I have seen you step with naked feet right across the top of the paths I had carefully formed. But I seem unable to cross, at least in the intense heat of these mid-afternoon encounters.

A Big Day For Sailing #3 or 4 (depending)

At the beachside-style bar, we met a woman in real estate. She took a cigarette almost without asking. Where the water should have been there was instead a tin-roofed shack where more drinks were being served. We missed the roar of the waves. She was insistent that there is not a grocery problem downtown. That there are no stores in the area seems to me what would be termed "problematic."

The sun was very much in the sand, and we were all squinting.

I voted for the pool, which was colder than expected. There was talk of ages. I was feigning a listen, but would not, internally, be moved.

The artist showed up late, and there was much drunken praise of work all around. I should not have driven. And I certainly should not have checked your blog. I did both. And I admire your productivity a great deal. My own has suffered of late, what with work; saving for the great Colorado adventure.

The wind was strong yesterday. It would have been a fine day for putting to sea.