Despite the title, I'll tell you I cry
For no reason.
Or any of them, or all of them.
All that was beautiful, or tortuous, or both.

Sometimes I would swim out so far,
The shoreline would look blurry and distant.
I'd wonder if I could swim back
Or wanted to.

Once while waiting for my lover by the Gulf,
I put my face to frangipani blossoms.
They smelled like lovemaking,
Deep and creamy.

Betrayal is like both those times.
I am here to tell you it feels like
Swimming out too far, into intoxicating scent,
And crying.

~ May 27, 1998

"The best way to know life is to love many things." 

 ~V. Van Gogh

I am blessed to be immersed
In the nomenclature of my errors;
Their strong male patronyms -
Hands and words and such,
Searing.

I laugh when I remember
The varied geography of my mistakes;
Their exotic and compelling place-names -
Flowers and spices and such,
Blazing.

I probably intend a redux
Of glorious screwups with males of my species
From many new continents -
That is, of course, if there are
Any left.

~ May 28, 1998

Now I will tell I am today
In sunlight, after long sleep
Shot through with dreams of exorcism.

The artisans at Chartres
Stained the glass dark indigo.
Work transformed to worship, radiant with light.

Renascent, I am that sunshot colour.
Bathed in gold and blue cathedral splendour,
The woman you won't forget.

Omnia gaudia
Omnia dulcidines
Omnia voluptas

~ May 28, 199

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