Letter From Maya
I felt you should know how often I’ve thought about you. Before I’m fully awake, whenever I’m alone. Once I taught myself to stop the spiral down, to take hold by gazing in the mirror, to stare, but now my breasts recall your mouth, my neck blooms red from kisses beneath my hair, none of my longing listens to the truth. The truth. That I can’t have you even one confusing night, surprise us both with who we are and aren’t, skew fantasy with flesh, tempt power. Already we’ve made love with just our eyes, why am I left alone in this strange fire?
In The Keeping Of Angels
Understanding, silent, they stand near. Their patience is our shield. Beyond desire their touch steadies us, and where fear would make us turn they guide our feet, fire like an emptiness burning them to love. See how they shape what we call heart to will? A will that sought, brings balance, though we move in pain. These angels are not ours, and yet they fill the absence we imagine with remembered light. Stephen, could I close my gates to you? You hold the only other key. True sight reveals these angels all around us, who wear the eyes of animals, of children, and who help us, as they must, to make this stand.
