We know how to make fossils these days,

And it begs the question:

Did someone know how to make them then,

In the Pleistocene age?

Did a nursery of little hominid children 

Have a play day,

And these keepsakes they made their mothers

Turned out to be the lasting impressions of love 

That lasted longer than any of them thought possible?

I’m giving you a keepsake here.

It’s only an eternal word of love I whisper,

And if your ear can’t now entertain it,

Maybe it will fossilize.

Maybe in some future life

When you feel love at first sight

For someone and can’t explain it,

Maybe you’ll have a vague memory

Of someone, or something, who truly loved you.

-jenn

 We write poems, you and I.

We’re a team.

For I only write the things I hear you say,

Or things the great cosmos

Whispers to me in dreams at night.

Even as personal as it might seem,

The poem I try to copy down

In the morning before I wake too much

Has been overheard by me.

Something the luminous consciousness muttered

While slipping into its clear overcoat.

Nothing can hide the shine

Of creation.

I hope it glows through 

In these words you said you thought you thought,

These words that I wrote back to you.

We write poems, you and I.

Yes, we do.

-jenn

 I’m unwinding.

I stare into the Milky Way.

It seems to turn,

But maybe it is I

Who counter clockwise go,

Unraveling le chemisière

Crocheted for me so long ago.

So long.

So long.

Fare thee well.

Goodbye to things I used to know.

Hello to morning’s apple tree,

Where leaves of summer green do wave.

They shimmer restlessly,

Like me, against your breeze.

But I am unwinding,

Letting go,

Unreeled, keeled over

In the great undertow of things.

Lovelights highlight the splendid horizon,

And I find,

I’m very happy to unwind

Here, ‘neath the mistletoe growing 

In my mind with you.

-jenn

 ... we could be

Like this old friend of mine.

He bummed around ‘bout half the time,

And the other, he was fine.

He told me why:

“Because I’ve seen the houses in New Mexico.”

Life tries to shame me,

Tell me I’m no good.

It would never do for me try.

I’ll never arrive.

I’m too short to drive,

To tall to roll.

But I just smile 

And take a stroll.

No one knows why,

But I, too, have seen the houses in New Mexico.

I think life will do.

I’m happy.

How are you?

I think we could be

Like the houses that I’ve seen

Out in New Mexico.

... very interesting.

-jenn

 Tell me again which one is better.

It’s meditative to hear you say it.

It brings out my alter ego,

Which may be, in fact,

The tactless trueness of my soul.

I’ll roll this way.

You rock the boat.

We’ll capsize this ship

Called Serendipity,

And scatter the bones out across the plain

Like runes that someone 

Somewhere, may someday understand,

And, in so doing, be liberated from

Whatever vicious cycles may abound, by then.

-jenn

 It’s so natural

To eat, to love,

To buzz at one’s own frequency,

The particular originality

That is you.

So natural the consciousness 

That’s vaguely unaware of itself,

Vaguely unaware of its heartbeats,

Vaguely unpossessed by care,

And yet we vaguely have the sense

To know we grow as a piece of all of this,

And vastly so, so naturally.

-jenn

 Let’s all breathe together.

Oh wait!

We do!

All humans inhale, 

Exhale,

Inspire, expect.

All animals,

All plants regale

The Great Inhale,

The Ever As Important Exhale. 

We live together.

We share this air,

This unawareness of breathing,

This great unawareness 

That we live and breathe 

Together.

The great unawareness 

That this universe, like an inverness we share,

Wrapped up together, cloaks us 

In the comforting tweed

Of undone deeds

And unawareness. 

How rare, how fair, I see you there,

Living in the air you breathe,

(You’re beautiful!)

And so is this, the air I share with you.

-jenn