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Fierce love is a line of ants
marching through the jungle 
their footsteps thundering,
shaking the air and the leaves of trees,
on their way to the termite nest
capturing the termite eggs
bringing the eggs home to crack their shells 
and devour them after the war.

Fierce love is mortal combat,
hand to hand combat,
hearts beating as if to break,
a knife fight in which each combatant survives their wounds
bloody, scarred,
relieved,
even happy.

Fierce love is kneading bread,
pounding your fists
nto the powdery flour,
mutilating it until it can be shaped
into a form worth baking
and consuming.

Fierce love is protecting a child,
any child
imagining what might have happen
before the sharp flash of nails, the deep dive,
claws, bared incisors,
spittle and malice,
no sacrifice too great.

Fierce love is a sweet puppy
grown into a wild wolf
roaming the forests
seeking prey and sustenanc
 no sacrifice too small
no victim too large
where hunger is great
where hunger is all.

Fierce love is not complacent
not accepting
not friendly
not playful
just fierce
just for itself yet requiring another
where breathing is labored
and mountain paths hard
and solid
beneath your bare feet.

Fierce love knows not play
only revenge
the unrelenting labor of childbirth
blood, the caesarian geyser,
promises of freedom from the fear of imprisonment
and delight in the jail’s metal bars
and the cell’s unrelenting locks.

Fierce love is Isaac
prepared to sacrifice Jacob
and Jacob willing to be sacrificed
Odysseus slaughtering Penelope’s suitors
and Telemachus obeying his father’s commandment
while still repulsed by blood.

Fierce love is tenderness,
soft caresses
accompanying moans
flowers in vases
beauty that must die
prayers that know not skepticism,
deep rest after deep falls and deep failures,
bees kissing flowers
select sperm piercing the egg casing
monogamous osprey returning to last year’s nests
mammals’ milk
the heartbeat of tiny insects
rhythmic song
chanting
accepting nonexistence
crying in frustration
in gratitude for the multitude of gifts
of love that only exists
because we permit it
because we admit it.

I bring you these loves
these sensual songs we sing
as fierce heat from violent explosions on the nearest star
warms this otherwise dead and silent rock we live upon.

When lost in familiar woods
One is quickly aware there are no dress codes
And after you’ve
Spun around enough times
To no longer know which way
Will take you further into the forest
Or which way leads out
Not sure of where you’ve come from
Or where you want to go
Knowing only you like it here
Comfortable and present

Lost in familiar woods.
There’s nothing to fear
Lost in familiar wood
No panic at being lost
Nor missing the comfort of home
Survival is not the issue,
Disorientation is
And you are paused
.
Enjoy the pleasures of nature
The trees many and one
And the path before you
Going in both directions
Deeper and safe.

When you didn’t come home
When I didn’t hear from you
I was strangely unafraid
Lonely for sure, but not afraid
I sensed where you were … more or less.

I called your office
They said your wife said
“You’d gone missing”
Though they were still searching.
I knew this might happen.

I waited for a phone message
Even email
None arrived

Then one day a postal card
With a foreign town’s cancel stamp
As the return address.
Your writing was teeny
And covered every inch of space.
It had directions.

I called my office the very next day
Told them I was leaving
Laughed with the receptionist
Who said she wanted to leave too
“Take my name,” I told her
And perhaps she did.

I left my not job
My not apartment
I had so very few strings
So few attachments
And I craved you so

There is more
I arrived at the airport
Used my credit card
To buy a one-way ticket
Dome money
Two plane rides
Three bus rides

When I got to the beach
At the bottom of the mountains
I pulled the post card from my pocket
As you asked me to
And read again

“Find the most beautiful beach
Follow the steepest road
Downhill is always the wrong direction
Pay attention to the smell of lavender
Look for pages of an old passport
Land snails climbing the highway reflector posts
Look for praying mantises
And note the direction they are pointing
See the flocks of dragonflies
Listen to the bells of goats
Listen for the biggest herd
The greatest range of bell sounds
Be that music

Walk on up, hard as it may be
Cyclists coming down will be singing
Cyclists going up will be saying “difficult”
This is a sign you are on the right road
Where the seeing-eye cacti stop growing is a church
You will see it from miles away
Four windows in the bell tower
High above the trees
Light pouring in
Real light

The priest will take you in
He will know nothing
But word of your being will seep out
And my shepherd will hear
He will go to confession
He will bind the Father
“Tell her only where to find Him,
Only tell her.”
And the father will,

“Passed the goldenrod,” he will say
“No one ever goes there
There are marigolds
Pine trees
A ladder straddles a fence
A stone house
The smell of freshly made cheese
Of sheep
A fire”

It is there you will find
A freshly made bed
Myrtle
Clean linen
The earthen floor swept clean
You may even find me
Or find dried bones.
Just in case
Bring the heart meds.

I misplaced my car keys and phone
And couldn’t find today today.
My knowing that the sun
Had rerisen on a new day didn’t help,
Nor did attending a meeting
Scheduled for today
And conducted in my native language
Where I couldn’t understand
The meaning in this context
Of any of the words used
All of which I knew the meanings of.

Even the meaning of “and” and “or,”
And/or, more specifically,
And which and or or applied
To which criteria today
Was lost
Or couldn’t be found
Or agreed upon.

So we didn’t reach closure,
Someone said, “today,”
And the matter was put off
To another today,
The date of which also couldn’t be agreed upon
But at least had not yet been lost.

I hoped this poem would be lost
And/or should have been,
On the day I couldn’t find today,
But that today went on to become yesterday
And a future I imagined would exist
Became the tomorrows of today
The day I couldn’t find today
And I found the poem still there
Or here, today.

I visit with a good friend today
And find him crying.
My impulse is to lift his spirit
From whatever darkness has overtaken him.
“Would you like a hug,” I ask
And he nodded yes.

Holding my friend in my arms
I feel his shaking,
His heart beating,
The expansion and release of his ribs
With each inhale and exhale.
I see the air that comes into his nostrils
Watch as it journeys into his lungs
As his heart pumps
As oxygen molecules attach themselves
To the riverboats
Riding on arterial rivers
That travel north and south
Coast to coast
Deposited at cellular transfer depots
Like baggage being transferred
From ship to dock
Each atom of oxygen
Picked up and greeted on its arrival
The contents of the molecules
Sorted from their shipping crates
And instantly put to use
Enlivening the recipient
Who then gives back
What was not of use
Along with a small gift
As together they rejoin the river boats
On the mighty rivers
Flowing further into the interior
And then back into the lungs
Where again the boats take on new passengers
New suitcases
Brought to recipients in need.

I noticed my friend had stopped sobbing
His feet rooted more firmly on the earth
Whose energy helped him stand upright.
We looked at each other.
No words were spoken,
And we smiled.