Such Deliberate Loveliness: Collected Love Poems of Paul Hina 1997-2006, Page 2

picture that is a space

  being filled with time will

  someday grow inside this moment

  where a promise was forgotten

  by a girl that awakes inside

  a life smile that is as tiny

  as tomorrow

  9

  sleep is not for every man who

  staggers throughout hours of the

  her and me that now only arrives

  inside rest that is larger than

  somewhere in my imagination

  but a dream is never so far as

  her whimsical light that seems

  afraid of this dark

  and the moon is so small that i

  can’t find that light of some

  rain that has fallen to remind

  me of a belief that sits beside

  our forever half sleeping

  all the while i had been lying

  on a sound that is a dead flower

  scattering away a thousand pieces

  of memory inside my heavy hand

  but if i clasp fingers to palm

  and believe in roses i will feel

  her charms lying on me with a

  disease that will stretch my

  flesh so as to find the nerves

  that feel, as always, the existence

  of mortality in the shape of

  love’s last hour and wounds my

  already burning bed with its

  clothes of preservation

  but she is there anointing me with

  the rhapsody of her words and even

  if my blindness, that dwells inside

  this half sleep, were to last past

  heaven i would rest a finger across

  her throat so that i might feel a

  voice as quick as my blood would

  know a journey to a heart of all

  sounds

  and if i were to touch her lips or

  even hover beside her breath i could

  allow my thoughts to falter throughout

  this infinity of restless harm

  but i can’t promise not to open my

  eyes in dreams and for all roses know

  a piece of life is only as slender

  as a ghost resting her head on my

  chest listening for unity

  and awake is fighting short breaths

  to not fall behind the perfume that

  is of herself so that i might sleep

  and even as i sink through rooms of

  us i fear i’ll never smell roses

  again

  so i just lie alive and wait for the

  sun to grow through a disease

  10

  lying so tiny she breathes quickly

  being born under blankets of a city’s

  ceiling but it is not enough to cover

  what she is or means to a man who

  watches her quietly being beautiful

  and although darkness forbids him to

  see all of her body’s silence there

  is a star growing from a window seeing

  only her face

  her hair is reaching towards the tip

  of her nose and half covers an eye

  which he suspects, like the other, is

  sunk behind lids kissing rest and her

  mouth is barely open to catch what air

  is in dreams and her lips must know

  how to glow when a light tries to find

  them

  and the light on her face made me feel

  like being under water when a sunbeam

  moves into you and warmth is known

  and so i watched and thought of oceans

  i thought of the largeness and the

  depth

  i thought of the color and the life

  and i knew that she surely must be

  an ocean inside of me and my body

  aches to be a part of what is drowning

  because there is no such thing as dying

  while you watch an ocean sleep and,

  when opened, nothing but life flows

  from those eyes

  and now fallen down(unclosed by her

  cleansing) some love drips from a

  nowhere hanging hand towards a taste

  of finally learning how to swim

  11

  i've got all these little births

  in my pocket that sing wishes like

  sounds of dropping coins for hope

  and they all move towards a life in

  a hole that holds a place for every

  kiss that will come from a person

  who will fill them with more holes

  and though you let every tiny truth

  slide from your hands you know that

  everything now born is running for

  death

  and you watch each hole swallow every

  newly born dream but maybe once you'll

  see a wish get away from the night

  being somewhere else making dust

  and a situation will occur called

  crashing moons and will now be

  referred to as broken stars

  12

  shaking form under her hands

  there is a man being quietly

  away who has dropped his wings

  and who can’t give anything

  to a woman that speaks so softly

  to all the snow that falls

  around him

  and he tries everything to forget

  the smell of fire but this man

  can only stand as still as flames

  when his eyes see this woman

  turning beautiful

  and as her mouth swallows him dead

  he understands how soft the rain

  must feel when it falls into snow

  and if moments froze like flowers

  kissing frost then we would all

  know the beauty of dying in the

  hands of warmth

  13

  across from nothing there is me

  and a window of fall only being

  distant from a spring ago

  she was where nothing is now

  drawing a picture of me being in

  love by a window of spring that

  lit a reflection of us on a book

  i was reading but can’t remember

  and though now she is nothing

  more than a somewhere ago i

  know she is here among many pages

  that are too tired not to fall

  but if finding her were to mean

  a different color of love i

  would be afraid to harm the

  spring’s reason for

  a fall

  there is now not enough light

  for pictures of pages that now

  fall from trees i can’t remember

  reading when she drew a picture

  of me being born in spring

  and though many seasons

  will continue to die i’ll always remember

  knowing more love than nothing

  14

  a voice of always may be forever

  dying like the one sleep interrupts

  hoping to not be seeing those things

  that knew you then

  and where is a how when you can’t or

  won’t even arrive into hearing often

  one more night and less a day me

  thinking you and you being then

  and a what makes another noise that

  can’t or won’t hear me grow no more

  15

  in the middle of evening a storm is

  being crafted with care by some force

  beyond this thought

  the rain falls slow into static and rushes

  on my overhead like miracles in chaos

  and rushing from my view i see all these

  lonely victims colliding
into one another

  for a shared moment

  all of them running safely hopping above

  collected windows and ignoring reflections

  of childhood tongues catching tiny visions

  that from smiles grow laughter

  standing inside i think of myself not

  being older than fear or younger than

  storms so i search spinning the world

  for some light to shine newer than now

  and there abandoned by use is an umbrella

  holding up a woman that stands politely still

  with head up and one hand out catching youth

  her eyes fall to me and a smile is becoming

  everything across her face and she laughs

  with hair clinging in front of her eyes

  streaming magic down her new hope

  and i laugh like someone who knows

  the name of rain and run into a wall of

  wet that stops me from being anything

  but alive

  she comes to me and finds her hand

  behind my neck and her eyes are so

  familiar to a life that had forgotten that

  even wet fingers aren’t cold when they

  love

  and her umbrella falls from her and

  she drips inside all of my loneliness

  and kisses me with all her storm and

  a flood falls across all the rainy children

  laughing at rolling umbrellas

  and i remember i love her

  16

  a reaction covers all the composure

  that was you before she doused you

  with herself gracefully moving like

  a cloud slightly glazing blue heaven

  and you would know home to be a

  place where she exists past here and

  beyond now into your admiration

  that would cause even angels to burn

  joyfully in her light

  shivering like candlelight in the

  darkness she drips silently away

  with a smile that makes your whole

  self quake and quiver victorious

  and your eyes fill up with tears

  blurring every image of the world

  around her and wrecks your very

  core with the clarity of watching it

  happen

  and knowing it could again

  17

  and it is her

  moving in slow motion towards

  me being toppled over end to

  end suddenly spinning inside

  a rainbow dream summertime

  morning

  and it is her

  smiling as the sun wraps the

  sky and swallows every blue

  with the brightness of a million

  shooting stars rushing like bullets

  hitting one right after the other

  tastefully melting over my flesh

  whispering memories of cold

  mornings wrapped in blankets

  wishing for her warm fingered arms

  to tangle me into a frenzied excitement

  and it is her

  numbing me with a downpour of

  falling ecstasy pouring a heavy harmony

  in an uncontrolled throw of mighty

  stares that drip rings that echo over and

  over caressing the silent pools in our eyes

  and it is her

  making every breath gasp back into