When the boxelder beetle died in front
of me, it was in good company.  The drapes
covering the wood and pipes softened
the sunlight illuminating stain-glass arches
behind the *****, shrouding dozens of other
dead boxelders that littered the tiles.  As
the bug slowed to a halt, each leg twitched
instead of moving forward.  The sunday service
then began and the larger pipes of the *****
rumbled through the chapel, causing the floor
to hum along with the numerous insect corpses.  
Each beetle vibrated to a slight blur and shifted
in one direction or the other, except for the one
still living; it gripped to the tiles beneath.  But
as the song continued, the boxelder began
to shake like the rest, and by the final
cadence of the prelude, the six spindles
carrying the bug curled like hooks under
its shell, lowering the boxelder bug
enough to allow a fraction less light
to fall underneath it, just like the rest.

I don't like this skin of vulnerability,
to show my softened underbelly
and to take off the masks of all my lies.
I don't like to let people get so close,
to reveal my inner temple to them
and to show them the chants of my priests.
I am a person
who hides within riddles
metaphors
puns and jokes,
I am a person
who would rather be a bad joke book
than be a real person,
full of every emotion
and even allowed to cry a little, sometimes.
Maybe
sometimes it doesn't have to be the downpour of rain
or a temple constructed in my veins
or the man who pounds me until pain
or the city lost in spires of smoke and bane
sometimes it can just be the tears
of a 19 year old thing
sick and heavy hearted and
so very, very confused
and
so very, very in need of warmth

for David on his birthday*

Above the noise and rush
of water in the gorge
this still pool
holds an expectation
of its river’s descent
down limestone-speckled
stone down-tumbling
to fill dark narrow space
with a commentary of turbulence

. . . and all the while
the arc of September’s sun
spotlights fern and stone
green grey pale-power white
water a mineral-brown
reflections everywhere:
our hard shadows sharp
against the sedimentary rock
skeletal fragments of life
from an oceanic past