expanding constellations
your voice stirs things in me I'd thought best forgotten
things like my hand on your hair and the taste
of your tongue on my guilt, my shame
and the joy obliterating it—
a memory of an Iowa night
and fireflies, you on your bike and me
beging for a ride across the fields.and your illusionist hands daring me
become what I see in you
and I remember fear in all directions
and me shooting forward, a trail
of ermine fire, not daring to wait
because I knew what would have caught upknowing there were roads
that would not wait for the exploringknowing that my path would always lead me back
I needed my own compass rose, my own solid north.
and now I come, polestar in hand, eager to show you
this is what I have made of myself
is it what you thought I would be?
or am I yet again a delicious surprise?8/9/99
I'm almost ready to go to Minnesota.I'm going to be offline completely for five days; the longest I've been offline in, literally, years. Which is a strange thought—the net has become so much of my conciousness, so much of my daily life, that I forget what my life was like before it.
I'm looking forward to it, the complete break from my current life and the freedom of traveling. I've bought books to read and a pad of paper to write on; I am all packed and ready to leave very early tomorrow morning.
I found some poems I'd forgotten i'd written tonight...four dollar coffee
not my body
but my gaze; I
dreamed once of
trumpets, anunciations,
the white trappings
of love trapped.
not my body,
but my voice; I
am a raft in this city,
a ferry across water.I am not here
to plan a rescue.
I am here to view
the wreck, to carry
a shard back, to tell
stories of a war zone.
I am not here
to save you.
I am here
to record your drowning.but I'll remember
your smile; tell me if
anyone else will.
that is a small eternity,
right there.oh, that wall fell;
my heart still remembers
the graffiti.
Berlin is still divided,
in the eye that remembers.--ksf 1998
