You said, with two slender fingers inside a book, "This is the strangest conversation I have ever had", where was my reserve and where was yours?

Was it because of the season, when the trees seem to be undressed and cleaned bare to their bones, to make clear their clean asymmetrical lines, that impelled us, two strangers, to stand in a bookstore, lower our masks and swap histories?

Or was it the love of suprises, that once made me walk up a small stream two hours north of here, just to watch it press itself out of a cleft of rock, drop after cool drop? Did those words spoken, have the nature of water: to come down as rain and soon become air, leaving almost no visible trace?

All that remains now is the memory of that moment, startling and spearing suddenly a rising fish. And nothing fills the space where you stood by, next to that shelf of architecture books, weaving filatures out of these transitory days and lives.

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2002:09:09 07:30 Atlanta
Jocasse is a Cherokee word that means "Place of the Lost".

My Poems

You forgot to open the door, you forget yourself and all that was besides the point for you forgot that I was already a part of the equation when you slashed the movie screen I was floating on, a bit role player hoping to turn into the knight.

Now as fall burnishes all the leaves, and paves avenues in golden red, trees have no vacany for little birds anymore there is no vacany for any pain tonight in my heart, I have already walked a thousand miles on the road that I left on with no destination no plan in my head. I had burned all the maps when I burned all those abandonded city blocks, warehouses, crumbling buildings, dream dance halls with movie posters advertising our show, my name somewhere in the footnotes, in the city called us.

Now I am seeing light in the distance, now I know I am going to make it, now there is no stopping me, now there is beauty rising, now there is abiding faith now there is the beating of wings, now there is the rush of wind now these jets are taking off, Now when you open your windows and wonder how you had forgotten that when one divides by zero one only gets infinity and empty sky, in which you will see me blazing away as a wild comet.

You just forgot to keep that door open. You just forgot yourself. Atleast remember this sometime.

2002:09:04 19:00 Atlanta

My Poems

I raise the blinds over this square of glass, sunlight comes pouring through, on the other side is the outside, here it is dark, this is inside.

I remember those sad eyes that said, watch your eyes in my eyes in your eyes, reflecting and sending silences. Perhaps this was why I couldn't distinguish what was inside and what was outside.

The curtain fell, the play was finished, silently we erased the travel routes on old maps of memory, etched inside. This is just my solitude standing, at these windows, remembering you, you who are now outside,

Of me, Completely.

2002:09:04 20:00 Atlanta Written to songs of Dar Williams.

My Poems