Typhoon Season
i’ve always perceived the sound
of Your name in twofold
like the sound of the rain. to some,
is a quench from a long drought
but for others, mostly a bitter memory
of mouths mud-filled and rivers overflown.
much of our last encounter in 2009 is monsoonal
but with Your presence, the heaviness seems to fade.
for the arborescent grasses — a stranger passing.
for me — a gentle but empty hand yet fills and potent.
like lightning, You dazzle as dickinson describes but
i have always chosen to bask in moments of blindness.
we have combed sierras in order to pass through weights
of loving and gust over oceans to fill distances.
but we disappeared with the stars one morning bearing
the coldness we rendered in our previously warm vessels.
what is Love but a shared language,
a word, an acrobat of airflow,
a signifier thriving,
an arbitrary signified.
this engine of godforsaken mechanism for the id
has left us with nothing but a torn and worn out milieu.
You are the anticipated typhoon season
we continually embrace despite the mess you make.
a natural phenomenon.
a recurring unwarranted chaos.
an unborn poet we continually offer pointless idolatry
and we are never sure of what we are truly acquainted with.
