I told you my secret name

Vincent van Gogh, The Yellow House in Arles, 1888.

vowels and consonants

your skin flew from your bones
the way birds fly when they hear a sudden noise
the moon opened wide
and other moons emerged from the gap
there was the noise of a beehive
and each bee carried a diamond to your eyes
this lit up the night
your fingers touched vowels and consonants
your hair was jeweled with punctuation
I rang a bell and a star appeared to keep you warm
moment by moment the night passed
second by second
that which we shared grew strong and tall
we whispered secrets and held each other
like angels holding compassion and the power of god
I told you my secret name
the name that I had never before said aloud
not even once
daylight returned with bees and honey
and a warmth that made sounds of its own
vowels and consonants
and we stayed together
held firm by time and the life we made
by the family that we created

james lee jobe

I don't believe in God or Jesus or The Rapture, but you have no idea how many times I have been absolutely wrong. 

james lee jobe 

standing in that silver doorway

she no longer stands in that silver doorway just waiting 

 

one breast matched the silver of the door-frame and with the other she lay in waiting    attacking those people who passed by with evil marks on their foreheads 

light in the water of being light in the curls of her long hair    light in the messages left by invisible beings that she translated into english for the amusement of the crowd    for the amusement of those cretins who sat in judgment 

light in the arches of her perfect feet the light of the sun 

the sweet blue of the prairie sky   no matter how high she held her hands the color never rubbed off onto her like she hoped    asked for    and didn't really believe she deserved 

she no longer stands in that silver doorway waiting with volcanoes in her eyes 

she no longer stands in that silver doorway waiting with the strength of joshua trembling in her hands and arms 

time passes for everyone    for her and for you, too 

time is part of the secret    the light of living 

time is the answer    time is the question    and time is always beyond our control 

james lee jobe

"Do anything, but let it produce joy."

—Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

Grandkid with kitten.

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james