Solar solace

seeking sleep

in the shining rays

a lullaby sings

in the sunny days

its notes they

fly about to and fro

collecting on

the power line scale

the breeze pulls

maple hands in the sky

reaching out

for solar solace

the chariot

drives on in the fire

as dreams rise

in Summer's warm desire

 

Hold on

we can run

through those fields

the ones that

stretch off into 

the eternal sunsets

we can chase

those moments

into the night skies

where the stars

flicker to the rhythm

of the fireflies

in those fields 

we ran through

we can hold on

to each quiet word

spoken in our eyes

and pen a poem

no heart could tell

but each sunrise

could sing of

we can sleep on it

there's no rush

to our next step

no need to force

any more words

we can hold on

Our plate

I'm not reaching

for the stars

I know their story

in all its glory

resides here

within

I know that when

something shifts

in me

it shifts in you

our footsteps

are at one with 

the mirror we

dance upon

an eight legged

arachnid can't

keep up with us

and it's enough

to know we

have already won

to feast in revelry

to have drunk and ate

our fill of each other

only to find there's

never enough

 

Memorial afternoon

painted ladies

dance on golden stages

while lions roar

in green blades

fleur de lis

silky cascades set 

sweet perfume clouds

assail in the breeze

dapper fellows

dressed in red flutter

to perch to peer

to pause and flee

fuzzy jumper

stalking flies sipping

on sweaty skin

bold with silks

timid angelica

stands bold and tall

yet withholds 

its nosegay still

cries and barks

fill the air like cotton

crowded below

yet sol sails solo

Tempest rest

I smell you 

in the rain

your breath

is the steam

rising from the soil

still hot from the afternoon sun

it whispers my name

in between lightning strikes

and rolling thunder

the constant tap

of the falling raindrops

on my skin

is your heartbeat

syncing with my own

the wind flows through me

I am the tree

you are my storm

 

Wet what

whether in weathered

rain or ocean deep

or standing against

the river water rush

it drips, it drowns

it pulls it all away

it pressurizes in

its silent dark depths

and flows through all

the inner streams

it is the glass

calling for a sip

it is the fog that

blurs reality's sight

it is the ice that bites

and the steam that stings

it is the stirring in

the sky that inspires

children to see things

other than what they are

it is the vast sea that 

keeps people apart only

to incite them to

take the journey across

it is the tapping 

on the windows

or the tears from the

windows of the soul

Nice trip?

those thoughts 

tripped and fell

and were lost

to the cracks

in the sidewalk

to that world

where ants dig

out after down

pours of rain

where weed

seeds gather

and create a

micro climate

amid scorching

suns in July

those thoughts

can only be 

found again 

through use of

a screwdriver

and patience