Eight years ago

 it was so late

yet it was the perfect timing

any second more 

we couldn't have suffered

I finally felt what it was to be you

and that you are so much more

and who knows who had 

the more daunting task

for you to impatiently wait

for me to impatiently drive

five hours into the north and dark

but our bodies met the bed

and when my forehead met your cheek

that bright spark lit up our eyes in the night

neither of us wanting to sleep

as this dream was too much to give up

savoring the sound of each other's breaths

we melted in our heat 

and waited for the clock to tell you

you had to get ready for work

the smell of fir and acqua di gio mingled

in our realization that morning

we had rescued each other in this life

The angels unaware

 the inked wings on your chest

glow in the reflection of the glass

if you couldn't have had them on 

your back this time around then

what better place than over that

ticker allocated with so many tocks

and people see the feathers you

shed, those many things that make

this fragile existence a tad better

everywhere you go you leave

that tell-tale trail in roaring

laughter, lightened moods, in

drained anxiety leaving calmer

spirits who have known you

as a patient and tentative ear

you had learned from some of 

the best in giving what you can

and knowing there are some

no matter how much you may

want to help, you just can't

those regrets may pool in your

far away stares or in the bottom

of the reflection in the glass but

the need and certain promise

there are so many more yet out

there you have yet to share a

warm chat or mere understanding

glance with, those and that is what

pulls you from your sleep and

into the place where you make a difference

Seluna

 her hair flows down from her shoulders

as the softest moonlight cast in the darkest of nights

it captivates in both shadow and sight

hinting at what may be there

and disclosing what is not

her countenance is whispery lace

a net of snowfall descending in the streetlamp

it is shocking to the eyes when it is met

it is cold to the cheek when it is touched

and is wet to the lips when kissed

she is barely noticeable at times

hiding herself away when she ends

yet when she is ready to begin again

she bellows out into bloom

putting the brightest of diamond twinkles to shame

silvery sheen and midnight blue she wears

beyond the evening she slips into the abyss

blessing dreamers until they wake

and lovers while they quake

yet she will only take the hand of darkness

to be her partner 

in her dance across the starlit celestial ballroom

Blood orange

 they scurried out of his hands

he raised his hands to motion them

as an uprising

he still speaks out of orifices

besides his mouth

and his reactive comments

are of gaseous sentiment

than intellectual notion

yet they scurried out of his hands

they were happy to

they were just the same

as any of his comments or actions

they were the mere manifestation

of all his toxic rhetoric

they gnawed on the ropes

binding hope with justice

their tiny claws left scars

on the marble columns

of all the places that 

should be thought of as sacred

and their relentless waves

left the streets littered 

with his legacy of deceit

for as plagues go

he knows how to spread them

all too well

Common

 I am the fern 

growing in the shadows

my unfurled fronds

sweep the floor

at the feet of giants

my bed is the moss

and rotting arms

of those lofty principalities

who could no longer

uphold their burdens

I feast on their scraps

as their flesh ages

withers and fades

to flake off and feed

the open mouth of the earth

though I'm lowly

men don't seek my bones

and I can survive the fell of the forest

when the giants who once shadowed me

can't

Word birds

 let the books flap their wings

as they pass over head

they litter the ground

with their words

each fumbled font filled pile

soiling the world 

that was once still and empty

and silent

but these writers rear 

their word birds 

in those coops kept highly

mounted on top of their shoulders

housed in caged-up crowded brains

the horrid condition of these

wretched beasts brings tears to the eyes

and unrest to the night and sleep

with poets, reporters, and authors alike

guilty of cruelty to random thoughts

for how are they to care for so many

how are they to capture and hatch

all the ideas that linger in memory's shells 

these cooped up feathered fiends 

have to be let loose when 

their numbers grow too great

and when they take flight

the sight is magnificent

though some may not always fly for long

while still others can result

in a library blacking out the sun

The waltz

the eyes peer down

it's momentary, but eternity

when it happens

the world surrounding 

is a whirling blur

and though it has all

the greatest glamorous frills

that gilded crowd has no importance

as with the glances

a warm breath descends

falling softly upon flesh

these moments are the same

for the heart as a light finger is

dragging along the inside of the forearm

hands grasp onto each other

for fear the music may fling

the bodies apart

but those eyes looking down

in every little glance

those eyes melt away any chance

of that ever happening

the gravity from them is stronger

than the unseen tether of 

the earth to the sun

let the fingers keep creeping

over the ivory keys and 

the hands keep pulling the bow

over the catgut strings

let the end of the song only

be the beginning

and the soles of the feet

lose all feeling

the intoxicating sway holds

fast to the trees in the evening breeze

and all is lost in the eyes

that peer down

 

Murder mystery

 it was dug up when the moon

was half there and half there not

they had been searching for it

in fact that was all they had sought

but once it was taken up and

removed from its earthly tomb

they had given up everything else

having no other life to resume

yet in that moment of discovery

when the height of the story loomed

all had come together to feast

and revel in that of the exhumed

but the glory still fades on

any ole thing that has come to light

and what was once elusive

can now easily hide in plain sight

for the table can be set so grand

full of feasts to account for in history

but experience and intrigue die

when knowledge coldly murders mystery

Daily ten

 crawl into the cave

the hollow of the mind

when the worries mass

have been swept away

a barren chamber echoes

the silence of eternity

nothing pools within

it ripples with each breath

the miniature tides carry

on the ins and exes of hale

with as much carried out

there is just as little carried in

this soulful excavation 

with its absent pitiful hole

was never the moment's goal

for the body is just a glazen bowl

it needs to be emptied when it's full

and needs to unbind the fluid soul

embrace the moon to throw it away

the ebb and flow will mediate

Rattled

there's a rattling inside

some sort of signal of bells

old, thinly hammered chimes

like those wrapped round bovine necks

the clanging, relentless

just within the ears

just beyond the brain

the bending of a joint

that's running low on cartilage

the clattering bones

which sing the same as trees

a groan in clanging chimes

time's escaping, falling

out like stones

rattling inside a shaman's rattle

the chiming of the earthly tones

the bells are ringing home