It is this moment of Love that persuades my ink to flow.
For if I could not, my dams would break, my bathtub overflow.
I must find some form for my love,
But what could I create that could contain these tides?
What cloud could ever contain the beauty of the sky?
Good Morning little heart,
Glad you slept well.
Dreamy eyed, stubborn and wide.
You look the most beautiful to me in the morning light.
Before the glare of day and still glowing from moonbeams.
Good Morning little heart,
The years do not age you,
Your look is eternal. Your youth. Your essence.
And yet life has worn you round the edges.
Your feet are full of holes,
Everyday you cut open again.
Spill out empty as a pocket,
Full of nothing, ready to be filled
And tip over again.
Good Morning little heart
"Oh hush" she says
"You're missing it.
You're missing the quiet"
Your eyes are soft like a lady or a lion,
Sitting patiently and watching, laying on top of me and looking though my eyes.
Searching, following a glimmer of light from my core that you see.
I watch you waiting. I see you seeing, or trying to see. Looking. Watching. Waiting.
Your eyes are clear as crystal. There is nothing you need me to be, no form you are trying to stuff me into. No funny costumes of roles you need me to play.
At first I am skeptical of your seeing. Could you really be looking for a me that you can't see? Could someone really be trying to see the full me? The full, messy, powerful, unadulterated me? And can I let her be seen? I never truly have before. She appears in moments but often she is like a ghost. Omnipresent and rarely seen. I tell her people cannot see her because they cannot see what they do not know to look for.
So many see my eyes, the curl of my lips, the sway of my hips, the warmth of my arms, the strength of my charms, my laughs vibration, my hearts hesitation. And those who saw, that light, that spark, who felt that sun, thought they could keep it for themselves. Thought they needed to protect her holding on so tight they snuffed her out. Or thought she could cure their ills. Thought this is the elixir that will heal me, and drank her till she was nearly dry. So now she does not appear much these days. She likes to stay shadowed behind my lids, soft pulsing from my belly, present but passive.
And your gaze is trusting and simple: pure looking. Can you see me? Can you really see me? One step at a time from the shadow till I feel myself bathed in the light of your vision and instantly your eyes reply with a smile and you laugh. You See! You See. You exhale and simply say. Wow.
Flying over cities, it is hard to believe that they are real; the orange-yellow light cutting angular shapes through the black. They appear to be cities of extra terrestrials. They seem digitally mastered. Where the light is brighter, the avenues, the main streets, and how the darkness envelops, containing the unknown, the unseen.
You can see where cities fade into suburb and country.
As we fly over the snow capped Rockies, between the black and white are specks of gold light. Someone is there, lives there between the caverns and caves, peaks and passes. I imagine what the towns must look like- quaint and picturesque in my minds eye. Fields of white turned pale and blue in the moonlight.
Full New Moon
Tide inside of me
High with longing and low with love.
My body is quiet,
As I watch the waves lap
against the shore
Of my heart.
When I really look at you I see all of you
And sometimes you look at me and see what I see.
Then our bodies become shy.
You look at your feet and turn away,
Your whole being becoming transparent.
Between our eyes there are smiles and sighs
And we stay an arms distance away
Our public game we play for everyone to see
We stay in the wanting of holding and laugh through shallow breath,
The space between palpable and bound with inertia:
Our wills hold us fast as we swim behind our eyes.
You wild, dark, twisted, and harrowing lover, you.
Today I have been with you for two years.In two years I have lived in five different apartments in five different parts of the city, I have sat around tables where five languages were being spoken at once and everyone could understand each other. I have danced with those I love as the sun came up over the spree. We have spent our summers in the sun of the grass, naked and laughing in blue green water, the day accented with yellow. We have spent our winters in wet boots, wrapped in wool and drinking red wine, complaining and eating boxes of 2 euro chocolate truffles. We have collaborated, created, come together and manifested the seemingly impossible. We have painted and planted, cooked and baked, drank and smoked, celebrated and grieved. And there has been loneliness, and sadness, days and days of grey, heavy and looming. There has been a silence here like I have never found before,
Through all of the highs and lows of this bipolar city,
I have discovered a place where the pendulum swings in between,
found that stillness even if for a fleeting moment.
Berlin. You have been a prison and you have set me free. Your streets have felt like a maze and looking up into your sky I have known what it means to fly. You have pulled the rug out from under me again and again, forcing me to find a true foundation in myself. I came to you a girl and you have made me a woman. Your love is tough and I have the bruises to prove it but you have transformed me and when I leave you, I leave a better woman. I leave transfigured. For this I am eternally grateful.
Sara Fay George
Keep following Love
See where her current takes you
Take your hands from the oar
Throw the paddle to the waves
Dive from your little boat
Trade its confines for the endless ocean
You will never receive these letters although my heart hopes you find them. Maybe your eyes will never see these words till I am gone and they search through my things and discover the letters unsent. They will be gathered together in a brown paper and twine, which will find its way to your doorstep. As the bow slips undone and the paper flaps open you will remember my messy penmanship and the scent of my hair from all those decades ago.
There were days of fields,
Blades of grass gliding between our toes and soil stained knees,
There were days of rivers to cool our sweat.
We have had fruit on our lips and pits between our teeth.
We have lain in the green and under the blue.
We have danced.
We have let ourselves sing.
But seasons have changed from a day to the next,
Draught. Famine. The Earth Forbidden.
Swallowed by the ground beneath my feet,
Held below with the bodies of those who have passed over the Styx.
Kidnapped by the King of Shades.
It is forbidden to speak his name.
My fruit splitting, exposed and bursting forth with seed,
His breath tastes of rotting and in his embrace I feel a part of me dying.
Above they turn their heads and prepare another offering.
Sinking their sacrifices into the earth by night,
Retrieving the decaying remains, sewn with seeds,
Placed on altars and planted to be reaped again.
Receiving Souls into the Earth for harvest in the Fall,
Here we feast on that Fatal Fruit.
Here we carry into effect the curses of men upon their eternal soul
And now it is forbidden to speak my name.