VORTEX SUTRA
Straightway from God I come into my redeeming skin.
- Anne Sexton
Ocean Boy

I keep reading that way above the sea
there’s a high feathery heaven, way above
Hawai’i way above — smell the air, that’s
Banyan when the wind blows through it.
And you said touching is touching is fine but who
can you sit with you in water?
The nights are getting warm again,
like before I swept you back
to the upper earth, where you walk
among the moon flowers and the moss
where you breathe
the very purpling hyacinths
and the moon, lemon yellow
and the very magenta of the dawning light
you try to speak, first letter hits the air
but only love comes out, with the blue
you sunk in me, on the places your skin
keeps our stories. 3 letters on your achilles,
where love made mortals of gods
and me? standing like cupid
faltering at the bow
sweeping you back like the moon hauls the hammer-driven sea, holding its waves in vain
like the churn of water again and again
and the waves, their unfathomable insistence,
doing their long, lonely work
don’t be sad Ocean Boy, lift your eyes,
some things are always there.
When You Showed Me Brooklyn Bridge
When you showed me Brooklyn Bridge
in the morning,
Ah god,
light all around you
you raised your eyes and looked at me sharp
“I have visions all the time”
people rushing to work
from their nice homes
clutching their coffees
nice homes but renting
anyway
there go the birds
carte blanche
nothing can hold you
dues are paid
they’ll have to find you
where they find you
Mexico City
turning down
a whole lot of blow
too young when your mom
found you
on the bathroom floor
how you told me, so earnest
and I couldn’t sleep for weeks.
Mad and gifted
baring your paintings to heaven
holding the light, the light
drawing me closer, closer
to your chest that scented heaven
good god,
like all of heaven
that’s when I taught you tears
that morning on the bridge
nobody else
knew you cried.
in the morning,
Ah god,
light all around you
you raised your eyes and looked at me sharp
“I have visions all the time”
people rushing to work
from their nice homes
clutching their coffees
nice homes but renting
anyway
there go the birds
carte blanche
nothing can hold you
dues are paid
they’ll have to find you
where they find you
Mexico City
turning down
a whole lot of blow
too young when your mom
found you
on the bathroom floor
how you told me, so earnest
and I couldn’t sleep for weeks.
Mad and gifted
baring your paintings to heaven
holding the light, the light
drawing me closer, closer
to your chest that scented heaven
good god,
like all of heaven
that’s when I taught you tears
that morning on the bridge
nobody else
knew you cried.
The Metaphysics of Flowers
Imagine this
I leave the lighthouse
empty, not a bird
in sight
you emerge from the rocks
as mist, with no body
or mind
last time you were an owl
crying over my window
I shapeshift into 5 blue
tulips in a big vase
a business I know well
I hear warnings
on the radio
the Atlantic moon
sheds its light on you
because the moon is no judge
but of course
you mistake that
for love
I say: look
news of me won’t come
after this
I am sick and
I’m leaving the coast
to be blessed on the mountain
where I was born
you won’t be able to pull
my roots out of it
but you did not come to listen
you move into tempestuous
sweeps and whorls
dancing like fish
on the hook
you just want to be seen
you know
I can’t dance, at least
not in this form
flowers stay still
but they are very psychic
how they lean to the sun
and know when to die
flowers don’t force life to last
or cry what’s left unsaid.