Permission

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You don’t require my permission
To rediscover the history you lost.

You don’t require my permission
To love what you love, or who you love.

You don’t require my permission
To practice your faith,
However you see fit.
As long as no one suffers and dies.

If you want to share the joy
You find when you do that,
I’ll return that joy with joy.
If you want to share peace,
I’ll meet your peace with peace.

But what I expect to find. No matter who you are.
Old or young. No matter what colour your skin is.
No matter what language you speak.

Is beauty.

I may not understand that beauty,
But I know it will be there.

love what you love

a winter’s fire

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Old NY Taxi Driver

i know you,
know you well enough to know
you could rip off the mask
and devour me,
teeth dripping with blood and viscera
on the night of the fiftieth anniversary
of our first date.
i know you,
know you like an old taxi driver
knows the shortcuts to desire,
no matter how they try
the young drivers will never
beat me to the doors of pleasure.
i know you,
know you like an old master
knows his cello,
if i pluck just there
draw the bow just there
you will sing for me,
or whisper,
or shout.
i know you,
like an old choir director knows his sanctuary,
knows where every false note will linger,
making the old men move restlessly in their pews,
and the young ones wonder how long before
it’s time to eat.
i know you,
but i don’t know you at all.
i know you,
but it’s the mystery that draws me back
to those hidden teeth,
those eyelids shuttering
the need to rend and tear
flesh from bone,
laughter from pain,
summer love from a winter’s fire.