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

 

Molehills lost

he blindfolded me

and walked me

through the mountains

my trust was in

his guidance

and his trust was

in my following

and through obeying

our trust in each other

the mountains were

merely a gravel path

in a meadow

Jungles

a path is sometimes

not what it seems

and much of the time

that can only be found

once it has been traveled

then does one regret

that time spent to do so

traveling a path not meant

for them in the first place

or perhaps it always was

trudging through muddy

emotions makes a burden

heavy to the most driven

of a courageous heart

but alas it has to be done

the path can seem impassible

at times, so dark and twisted

or at times so very pleasing

when the parasitic hitchhikers

go unseen under loose attire

most difficult is when a path

plainly leads one off and away

from their heart's longing for 

but comfort in this that one only

needs to bushwhack elsewhere

 

Damn the ebbing

these constant waves

I know the reason now

the desert always returns

after the heaviest downpour

after my hand pushes through

to almost reach out and touch you

everything then withdraws

everything retreats

it all pulls in

within

and then blooms

once again, very slowly

into the garden we have known

into the splendor of the sun we share

into the moments we have longed to know

to again slowly fade from our view

trying to make a memory of you

when you were there so real

so present, so very true

burning deep within

until the wave...