Letters from my ancestors Have each spelled out ten names Two to be used in case of emergency Five for female spawn Three for patriarchal ties And six as shadows of mine own heart.
I love each one as any man can I’ve researched each story true, Chosen from my memory I’ve drawn each one out, too. I hold my head up high for them; Each they’ve passed to me their secrets. In my hands I see their scars So, too, I see their years.
Through their streets I have sure walked I’ve also gone for a ride Sitting in the back seat Of a stuffed full 1965 Studebaker Heading out on summer vacation. I’ve opened the door on Union Street To taste homemade crabcakes and beans, I’ve rode the long trail home Passed Devick Lake out on the range.
So each of the names I keep at the helm Awaiting imminent deployment, Like roses saved in a jar A timeless memorial stored as fondness, An old lined sheet of blank paper Found in the desk of y’or.
Watch this energy From our moon Rise and fall again She comes and goes Wiles and whims, Which cycle is she in? Look towards evening sky Might you not see her tonight? For she cycles Twelve hours and twenty five minutes To pull our bones In gravity Selene of our mind.
I am gone in the order of gratitude Baked cookies and a overflowing milkshake Beans for supper but hold the pudding I’m watching the stars go around again But Polaris makes me spin around This collaboration expanding in an exhaust of pain For a two letter word in a five tree forest Begun the path, no return Running silently I empty each bag Carried for so long, straps begun worn And something thus calls me, standing I’m alert Hollering and hollering, Thusurathar Name me again, gratitude remains.
What does it take to love you? What does it mean to hold your heart? Like a delicate silk perfectly folded Into five evenly spaced sides Without creases.
What kind of fingers dance, prance About sticky honey-buckles? Long strands of hair into the deepness of my soul. For forever was a long drive Straight West into sunset’s romantic heart.
What kind of foot pierces clear waters of a hidden brook? What does the water taste like After it drips off your tentative toes Recoiling into giggles, riddling squirrels Into silence.
There were five impressions there that day Two belonged to the Emperor King Child though he was, vast was his arm One belonged to the lady tea dealer Powdered face and blood red kimono Shimada and the Golden Lotus Black trim like a bleeding matchbox The fourth belonged to the fat man Hojiju Business tycoon but despicable patron Beard so long it caught fallen crumbs A neck so indulged it sweat on its own A stomach sized so large it was custom made His breath so grotesque nearby flowers wilted
And the fifth, sigh.. the fifth Well, the fifth is a story Designed for only respectable ears Those ears entirely ready to be cured To be enlightened upon a new journey Through and over finer paths in life Along shallow waters edge Where the spring tips of sakura blood Flutter in the wind to float on away
The fifth is a story of love and then lost A heart that danced so lightly on lilies In the sweet summers pond, so lively with life A story of silent bicycles rolling through Low hanging lanes of public parks Along delightful gardens intricately cared for Dazzling with brilliant colors Like a van Gogh day lit dream
And when love effects them When love finds it’s sacred ground amongst Great boulder rocks and tiny bonsai When love settles the folds of a deep blue kimono Flushing the face free of all blood With tender thoughts of a young brides countenance Then, at that moment is when the fifth enters Along with its strong jawed suitor In new business formal
But it wasn’t there that the fifth stopped its journey A sleek rickshaw and a sturdy set of legs Cobbly streets and dimly lit alleys Hushed movements behind closed rice paper dividers And sandals displayed in all sorts of hurry Emotions rolling down the window like raindrops in the night Comforting morning departures, comforting silence Comforting ebb and flow, engagement Rolling through like smoke From a freshly extinguished candle Escaping out through ill-fitting woodwork Of ancient architecture And passing through the heart of a lamenting maiden Deep amongst the last haiku Beside tokens with memories Beneath bamboo thatched covers Protected by fine silken layers
Here lies the fifth Forbidden from all eyes but two Forbidden from all hearts but one Forbidden from all souls but one Forbidden and almost forgotten But sacred, and coveted And lost
