every day,
there’s a meteor shower
your eyes never see
and there are shards
of broken promises
that barely miss
your ears

and every night,
there’s a prayer lifted
from the palms
of a little kid,
there are celestial beings
grazing the heavens
and singing lullabies
behind your dreams

between day and night,
there’s a reverie
and a poet dancing
beneath a cherry tree

when the leaves
fall in autumn
they curse
the branches

and then
come winter
the branches
curse the leaves

bring spring
is the season
for forgiveness
when branch
and leaf
reconcile

and I’m reminded
of the beauty
of being
rebirthed
by roots

the sound of faith
is an eternal humming,
a low but effortful sound
unbroken and long

it’s the sound of the earth
after the rain stops pouring
and after the thunder
has calmed

put a stethoscope
to your mind,
half your thoughts
sound like faith

the world sleeps
and I steep my tea
then sip carefully
while stirring moods
in my mind
and I soak in
the afterthoughts

these quiet moments
are to me the spices
of my days,
defining,
adding flavor,
masking all
the monotony
poured over
by the predictability
of routine

poetry turns
the mundane
into sacred
ritual

if you ask me
what color
I think fear is
I wouldn’t say
crimson red
like the color
of blood
or pitch black
like the ocean
at night

I would tell you
it’s bright yellow
the kind
you can’t
look away from

I want to smoke
generosity,
have it fill my lungs
and exude from my lips
and color the air
surrounding me
with the same carelessness
of one who knew
of a cigarette’s harm
but loved it anyway,
only it’s not recklessness
if you’re already drunk
on devotion to the Divine

reckless abandon
is not always poetic
but love
to the point of worship
to the point of devotion
is

my eyes
are on Syria
and the smoke
over Damascus

my mind
is on the trembling
men, women,
and children
in pajamas
surrounded
by an ashen city

I had flashbacks
to Iraq tonight
and the libraries
they burned
in Baghdad
and Libya
and the songs
of hope
from otherwise
hopeless people

war breaks hearts
buries dreams
and burns cultures
and it often starts
in the most
insidious
of ways

my mother collects
my tired smiles
and turns them
into sapphire

she’s an alchemist
of sorts
and a jeweler

and a dressmaker
who specializes
in silver linings

I fear endings
before they begin

I hate borders
and love edges
like the ocean’s
undefined
and negotiable

I fear beginnings
without endings
the way I fear
quicksand
unforeseen
and betraying
of undue
faith

and I’m trying
to be more
like water
mellow
yet miraculous

I found my mother
at the doorway
of my bedroom
at noon today

she told me
of a song she learned
at the hospital
that captivated her
and so she chased it
and with the nurses help
was able to catch its name

we listened to that song today
together in my bedroom
at little past noon
and her eyes teared up
at Adele’s mention
of missing her mother

and my eyes glistened
as I thought
of my mother
missing her mother
and the inevitable day
that, I, too
will miss mine