A flock of seagulls

the travel log 

must be extraordinary

for the seabirds

that return to the middle

and to give up

that briny shore and

salty ocean breeze

where primordial life 

once poured out of

for the middle

where one must follow

a tractor and plow

to scrounge in the earth

for whatever may crawl 

or wriggle out to sacrifice

itself for dinner

instead of plunging into

endless deep blue waves 

for a pound of silvery fish flesh

one must question

the reasoning behind

this seasoning travel

 

Letting go

a release of obligation

to further let go

of something that 

never was mine

to further surrender

to the eternal and divine

all that is kept

inside the chambers

of the heart

all that is mine

all that's divine

for it's possession

serving as deception

of that flame that never

consumes what it burns

let me walk through

that very same fire

let it consume both

my longing and desire

so I may come to rest

in what will always be

the unity of you and me

Cold wet grass

bare feet on

cold wet grass

flesh flows over

the fallen rain

hanging on each blade

the sky above echoes of

the wings of crows

as night filters through

the heavy sullen clouds

in silken petals shines

the golden sun

beacons among 

the shadows and green

bare feet grasp

the ache of wet cold

yet tarry on the lawn

 

Clearing of thistles

the sharp teethed leaves

in green rosette

of the early growth

so eager and vicious

tucked in among

the wild violet blooms

and blushing peony stems

and anywhere else

the downy seeds 

may have fallen last Fall

yet sharper blades

plunge into the earth

knightly swords plunging

into the bosom of

the scaly dragonish beast

never giving chance 

for violet silks to give rise 

to the same downy seeds

that may have fallen last Fall

In the music

this music

makes me think

of our talks

when we'd sneak

away in the dark

to get lost in

each other's words

there was none

of this silence

every little thought

would spill out

uninterrupted and

willing

sometimes my

voice would become

yours and you

would finish where

I had left off

and if we had gone

to a palm reader

I bet they wouldn't

have known whose hand

was whose

you always

gave me perspective

and I hope I

always gave you

hope

when our talks

felt like music

 

Weaving it

rain gently drips

on tulip petals

my fingertips flow down

the back of your neck

thick gray clouds

drift through the sky

your warm breath 

whispers in my ear

temps in the forties

chill the house

our eyers linger

within their gaze

water beads on 

the roof of the car

your laughter feels

like home

the rain sounds

an applause on the roof

we get lost without

going anywhere

Some October eve

we tarry here

at the gate

on the threshold

at the brink 

of a moment 

we have looked at

over and over again

attempting to figure out

the when and where

for the thunder in

our chests knows the why

and the who

well that's me and you

as for the what

well we need some wonder

but the first two

are the vital keys to the gate

and the how we'll leave to Fate