The Royal Gaia We

December 30, 2009

The Royal-Gaia-We
step from these breathing
glowing human-hued bodies.

Sometimes footsteps and memories
of one glass of milk satiating
one thousand cats
follows us love-mysteriously.

These goings upstairs and downstairs,
looking for either lock or locket undone,

Steps making themselves by way of
ocean-deep-green
having landed contracts
with the ore earthen wave-footstool
and a peach-crystal-ear-soundlessness,
to be signed into prints
and echoes somewhere else.

Titanium sunshine-king,
rainbow goddess rainbowing in a circle,
an ocean shore peppered with the sweet
salt of God’s sandmaking,

Titanium nest of solid cellular-eggs
and an pearl spilling heirloom-basket
ablaze in the fledgling talons
of flexing obsidian phoenixes
having leapt from tectonic lovers’ hearts.

How the rain moves
its last self expression along
into a pool of formlessness and sinking,
filling wishing wells,
giving gills context,
saturating bones, muscles,
nerves and tendons with birth christening.

Holy Spider,
god-silk dot-to-dotness,
silken movements forward,
and eight caresses at once
with one heart amid this kind of
glistening patience.

Whisper-cotton paper
woven with linen, lavender
and spotted by mint oil droplets,

The breathing of a troll
and the iron-scarf of its bridge,

Hot liquid limestone churned with
polar bear lumbering spirit-wine by
snowflake and charcoal glowing fairies.

The Eye of Horus,
the mist-warm nostrils of Horus,
the soft pink lips of Horus parting
to say something to Gold that Silver
has never heard exactly ‘this way’

And the other Eye of Horus,
and the heartaches in that eye,
bellowing orange smokiness,
bellowing bullfrogs resounding a
procession of living color and water
again flowing as a brand new Nile,

Mermaids suspended in
God’s clear blood inner dispersed
outside of Time and Space
and clear angel-songs;
finned queens and kings
incubating in soft pliable eggs
glowing salmon red far before the
razor toothed mates leapt upstreaming
their eager same-colored fleshes.

Down deep,
inside the child-heart,
inside the hand clutching
whatever isn’t able to hold onto
anything for itself,

Down deep,
inside the child-smile,
inside the assurance that it is alive
and welcomed by its own presence
overflowing into bottomless catch basins
made of green grass sprouting an eternity
of seeds and melon vines courageously
knocking on one another’s spherical doors
to feel who is open
for being opened to the sky heart,
for the golden flocks to alight
and sever the reigns of their bodies
meditating expressions of Right Here.

There is a place
from where all guardians spring.

There are real metal cages that surround
the birds of the soul.

There are real lovers who lay in
single hammocks made for a million each.

There is a place
where all accidental trespassing
is a treasured surprise,
in that guests still wonder about
with their hearts fueling their eyes,
envisioning barbed wire
as smooth heart-strings,
and worth risking a momentary possibility
of an oasis-entanglement;
a lover resounding from having
cart wheeled across the galaxy
to this one moment in time
for so timelessly long.

There is a place
where swans undress
from their feather coats,
slip off their webbed feet
and place on tables made of orange marble
their beaks, eyes, organs
and chalices of feathery blood
still vibrating from a Lifetime-so-far
of heartbeats.

There is a place
where Anubis takes
one pinpoint droplet of Problem
and makes a thrice-Jupiter sized planet
of Love-solution…