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

 

Idling

the value of nothing

is priceless

yet doing nothing

is something

allowing what

will be is silencing

the will in

the great emptiness

of choosing

not to choose

it's surrendering the will

to the one who gave it

everything and anything

will always find nothing

for there is inertia in

both stillness and movement

and the void will not

last long

Trusting the process

I can feel it

every time

I'm reminded

that all of it

isn't just a

figment of

some dream

that all the

signals and

all the little

crumbs that

someone has

left along the

trail are true

they are all

guidance on

my path to you