Kyomu e (Into Nothingness)

Your laughing eyes draw me down a darkened corridor
the whites of those eyes like candles in the night
leading home where the hush of evening is broken by
the popping of a wine cork, piano riffs
I thought I’d turn in early
yet the tenor of the evening turns
with a joke about woman and slugs
I launch into a rail against demeaning humor
how you can belittle women by such words
I get my dander up, but you cajole me with different jokes
I am giggling, then laughing out loud.
We make popcorn – the old fashion way,
with oil and a covered pot.
I’d forgotten the lovely sound of the sizzling
and slow roil of the popcorn until the first few explode
followed by the rat-a-tat-tat of the kernels as they all reach their
popping point. We eat it with butter, on the roof
under a full moon peeping between low clouds
my legs over yours beneath an old quilt I made
You slide a hand along the inside of my thigh
I melt into you with your breath in my ear
my hand in your hair. I warn you I might faint,
because sometimes I do, it doesn’t deter you. You are not afraid
to take me over the edge into that oblivion.
and I go, to that bright exquisite place where pleasure blinds me.
I am both acutely present and out of my body all at once.
I am brought back by your quieting breath.
We finish the popcorn, still on the roof.
I hear your coming of age tales
I tell my own, keeping a few secrets for myself
this evening is unexpectedly energizing
surprising turns of lust, humor, anger and joy,
of kindness, warmth,and vulnerability.
I might not know you after tonight
after you board that plane to a place I have no intention of ever going
but I thank you
for this perfect night and for the chance to look at you while you sleep
so peaceful, so trusting. I thank you.


Barcelona felt like home the minute I stepped into the street
The familiar smell of oranges and the sea floated through the town
There was a guitar player I happened to meet
whose music I felt as deep as those eyes of brown
Gaudi, Picasso and the Sagrada Familia ignited visions.
the food and wine comforted late into the night.
The Barri Gotic, the Rambla, and Sarria – the towns divisions,
felt as familiar as a childhood home where the porch was always lighted.
I wept to leave this sacred place
hoping to return, an act of grace.