lonely with, lonely without

if only you were here
i would pull you inside me
as easily as a breath
and then i would exhale

jasmine descends
from the vines overhead
late in the summer
it is overly pungent

i watch i soferina
and fall in love with
aliki vougiouglaki
how silly of me 

lonely with you
lonely without you
what i thought i had
was an illusion

as i sleep you are
passing through the
streets of lamia
searching for almonds

when i wake it will be 
your turn to dream
crossing the threshold
of unfulfilled desire

 

Goodby Mass - Lou Reed

for Margaret

Wormwood

10,000 lightyears later
and I'm still sucked down into
the wormhole of your hatred.
I will not grab that silver thread
winding from the exalted place
you claim to be your birthright:
Your narrative doesn't wash
and the food you eat is poison.

Calling Margaret

Just before dawn on August 4, 2014, a cool breeze blew through the house. It brushed across the sheets, ruffled your hair, but did not wake you. It spoke into your ear, calling your name: "Margaret, Margaret, Jesus loves you."

You smiled in your sleep; the fear you felt the day before subsided and your face relaxed. Yes you loved them, all of them, with the kind of love that only saints know, unconditional, infinite. That love would never die.

A door opened up in the corner of the room, as big as you needed. You blew a kiss to your family, to all humanity, and ascended. In the morning, they found your body but you were gone.