Madrid

this heart is meant to burn reality
this heart will leave gravity behind, a gift
of dreams that in their passing
billow clouds of a stronger utopia.

This heart leaves ashes to fertilize a reality with gravity that
moves at the speed of dreams.
This heart calls into being a Phoenix for
our pens that scribble rotations between
the door to the sun and
the street of the virgin of dangerous things.

Hers

The dice rolled out spilling life into her hands

A constant presence, changing temperature
His hand found one truth; gravity is overrated

Invisible clouds covered the stars
Her love was an open sky, His loathing a bridge

Splintering, soft shards of sea-soaked wood

Where the real becomes a series of moving images

That give light and love with fists full of fire

As/Like Twice a Fortnight

The secret sea has crept inside her head forever

Silk and fine cotton when we drank tea out of tiny china cups
We were warm and dry with wind and sun shining their light

The day had become a leafless, cloudy secret, hard to understand
She had so little grammar of journeys
She wrapped her secret sea in naming the planets and their distance from the sun
Her exercises yielded love, laughter and tender tears, twice a fortnight

As/Like Part of an Answer

They discussed naming the stars as

The day would gently carry them to the edge of the lake
They made bonds inside fists full of fire

Their tongues were as light as feathers

Dahlias spilling blood for the poet's pen
They stitched the quiet forest of forever into a bomb
Their very own atomic reaction

Their words rose like bubbles in lakes the color of tea

Nothing was the same now that dissolving fingertips
Reached up and out towards the sky

Beside them were glasses for seeing through the light of the sun

Resting intentional arcs
Spelling the part of an answer she was trying to remember