Let The Merry Merry Whale My Soul To Be

How the petal ends the Earth and begins the sun ~
sometimes when we hug someone we love there is
a moment a fear of their death ~ arises within us, not them but we

we grasp the moment as a memory never understanding
there is no difference between their and our precise point

the atoms and stars ancient that we are 

... I, a child once of and inside a dream
gave birth to quarks of light ~ rode them home to light and was
clockwork colors

we bounded through canyons and across emptied wells
sounded like whales who have dove their last time
through the final DNA of their lives.

DNA is the whale of our flesh, and seeks depths of airs not fate.

Their lows’ songs softly transpired through spheres
I wept into, and their light like bubble gum spun
behind their descents I swore I would learn to fly
from great heights into titanic depths the entry to new skies
and find the final throe places
of my merry merry whales,
and though a mad, mad child was I,
I would weep for this sanity when adult-like, big
and of the hands and flower smashing eyes
floundering in oceans, gray and still
where even dust but no lows are heard.

Adulthood came like dead birth from dancing fetal dreams gone bad

... I, adult, shed the bullshit of ancestral expectations,
the curve of bones and holding my lungs small as though I were finite
no longer comprehending the merry, merry whales;
my skull is told to hold into my dreams my deaf eyes,
and become a foolishness of forgotten dreams ~ to be or not insensate
to the noted shadows upon the ground cast we our own illusions
as though they were mere curly inscrutable yawns
that lovers may praise memories to come
never guessing these come also at unwelcome times,
our hearts blossom blue, savage flowers  ~  seeking thorns and fluids
that rise rise like sharks for the red of the air
in our blood as longing gasps, how my eyes, so deaf ~ as though
have found mouths where loved lips had once been?

I sigh for the tree, and pray a beginner’s prayer
for my lost and merry, merry whales the merry swoop
I long my lover go long after I shall;
yet only once before have I asked
how the kites that I’ve flown
and their smiling soliloquy tails courting me,
why my deaf adult eyes only measured string.

I pray that lovers may beg to catch memories
while still aloft, and never again leave them behind
in trees and upon lakes only children understand
of how sunlight leads beyond a fingertip’s heat.

Children are not wise, only inexperienced.  Adults are not
experienced, only children tied barbed wire fast into fearsome fear’s joke.

See upon me, father sky, within your mother stars,
how I these await as rain; oh mother wizard seas
tell to me when you fall through my winsome yawn
captured at the moment I died yet alive by strings,
still at prayer for the longing kite tales,
how is it I could have fluttered greater heartbeats
upon the breast of the one I love now
than the one I shall still love then,
even if bridged by stone?

Oh how was I to know my tree before such mighty winds
as lovers may embrace a memory they create
within any moment now they desire
as one last hug, as though death might become
after all
a mere ricochet.

I flutter. I flutter ...

a mere ricochet,
I flutter
to ride upon the final backs
of any such merry, merry whale now in heaven.

Oh let the merry, merry whale my soul to be,
that I might never have been, but for thee,
a simple lover at last.

How the petal ends the Earth and begins the sun ~
my love, tis we.