Alone at Night
The sheets do not talk. The warm breeze
does not know that autumn is near;
The language of premonition
Is burrowed like a fossil in my pillow.
The Canon of Bliss
A book of poems
Flowers from my devotion;
Water floods my heart,
Meeting an ancient emotion.
Deep below the soil dark,
Beyond a shovel’s reach,
Who I was before you saw me
Spreads out like an immortal beach.
The tides may harm but not touch
My heart of mild slopes;
But you, with your burrowed beauty,
Nuzzle to form my cragged hopes.
With rhythms varied I will write:
Lovers everywhere kiss
Lovers anywhere, and so
I give you this canon of bliss.
Written on Tuesday, November 18th, 2003
Here I Love You
Here I love you, between the bandage
And the blood.
A shard of glass has split
The sexual union of your skin.
Here I love you, between the wound
And the stain.
Your heart has seen an injured dream
Reborn in a drop of blood.
Here I love you, between the healing
And the pain.
I have held you by your joy
And now I hold you by your sadness:
And here I love you, between my hand
And your hand.
Written on September 10th, 2003
The Religion That Bears Your Name
While seated in meditation
You walked past my shut eyes,
My face in peaceful repose,
My still body, more still than a garden.
Dawn for Young Lovers
As the first light stirs
Not a single word is spoken:
Your arms seek me beneath the covers.
My soul finds you beyond the clouds.
The Seamstress
I love you, though it pains,
And the pain to me shows
Exalted mountains, expansive plains
Where once I chose
To lie, somnambular and closed.
The Soul
I like to reach a hand
into the unknown.
I like to rise early and predict
The patterns of the clouds.
I like to let the evening give
My skin a certain tenderness.
Sometimes a song I heard yesterday
Makes me dance, alone, on the grass.
Sometimes I fall in love
Because I want to cry.
Sometimes I cry because
I want to be loved.
I go around the world placing
beads of tears on flowers.
I look towards you like an explorer
Towards the horizon.
Great lands breathe life as they
Step through a door of fog.
My soul is a ship breathing
LIfe on open waters.
Written on December 10th, 2002
The Premonition
The wind sweeps like a broom
Through my lungs,
Like a meek old lady, in a half-lit store, closing shop.
About Me
Andy Posner
I am the Founder & CEO of Capital Good Fund, a nonprofit social venture seeking to tackle poverty through financial services. I am also a writer, poet, cyclist, and avid reader. Enjoy my blog!