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
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
somewhere in the outer
orbit the stardust glimmers
somehow inside you that
same stardust glimmers
sometime that stardust
will return to the outer orbit
somewhere in the peripheral
the light shines brightest
somehow the brightest light
comes from within you
sometime you will learn
to let that light shine out
somewhere just out of reach
the sweetest music plays
somehow the sweetest music
resounds from within you
sometime everyone will hear
the sweetest music from you
somewhere, somehow
sometime other than just now
is the moment that has
been waiting forever for you
buried at the bottom
of the grave isn't
the body of her husband
but the widow weeps still
deep within the earth
rests a ship within
a glass bottle sealed
in wax sealed in soil
crystal sings from glass
that encases the sails
as three cards are pulled
hermit, magician, fool
the crystal cracks as
earth rises and winds blow
and from the sea is seen
a smile from a not so strange stranger
a green light glimmers
off bronze glazed skin
in a pool of gold stones
and blue colored gems
Mushika lays at the feet
of an elephant divine
who's flanked by tarot
and a spent cone of pine
the scales hold the cusp
of bull and twins energy
weighing the gravity
of true destiny's synergy
under the upcoming moon
in the blue archer's time
will the ship finally sail
to a dime and another dime
these two eyes
one sees from the soul
the other's vision
comes from the mind
they cross when
they disagree with
what's in sight
a true deliberation
of the meaning
of any interaction
with the external world
they roll when
they are chasing after
whatever they think
may be important
to self preservation
they wink when
they want the other
to miss something
the one wants to focus on
and they cry when
they agree
same in essence
the tiny sparks
seen in the dark
when static shines
in fabric friction
the great energy
that rolls in sound
and flashes light
when the turning
of the earth rock
pulls at the ocean
levitating in the air
and the same spark
illuminates the sky
to behold what flows
through everything
in grandest display
a show of bolts and
music of the gods
nine is the mirror
mine is the nearer
to your breath
holding the two mirrors
your birth is given
the moment I hold
nearly as dear as
a time of two dimes
and if all this was true
I'd somehow make it through
and give into you
for you to count
the fingers on my month
that's half of your own
and offer up to you
my crown and my throne
those thoughts of
liliums replacing alliums
means someone may be
middle aged that is
if that someone lives
to be the ripe old age
of ninety, nine, a good
year it was to complete
high school and live
a surreal moment when
congratulations met
graduations, a time
of year for towns to
get wiped off the map
and more than a whirlwind
meets schedules for
grandparents and estranged
relatives, it's all relative
but merely a distraction
just above my head
hovers a swarm of gnats
notes bouncing up and
down a music scale
unheard by these ears
further out from these
little songbirds flutter
through arms of trees
and maple seeds are
flung by the breeze
propelling through air
to find their retreat
higher yet the raptor
surveying as it sails
through the gray waves
of the mirrored ocean
and my arms reach out
to wish the rise above
or the fall from earth
into whatever exists
far beyond any of this
getting an answer
for a question
never asked
is being in a dream
you remember
did I walk into
the corridors of
your psyche last night
is that where I was
when I killed the wolf
that had jumped the fence
or did you walk into
my hall of reflections
with the writhing alligators
being handed to the woman
behind the desk
I'm not really sure anymore
who's responsible
for any of the thoughts
or any of the dreams
as you are always in them
and where you are
I long to linger
loose windows knock
on windy days
doors slam shut
on those same days
things are thrown
furniture is knocked over
on windy days
dead branches fall and
ash is blown from chimneys
on windy days
faded flowers disappear
and roots are stimulated
on windy days
dusty air is cleared
dandelion seeds travel far
and whispers fly to the stars
on windy days
so many words
lost to the moment
a flock of birds
that have scattered
into the sky
when the frustration
fumes into the ether
around dusk dancing
with twigs donning new leaves
that is where the words leave
in a sigh
in a deep breath
all those words collecting
behind that mental dam
to cause a pause and retreat
to a moment to lose words
you're in the numbers
on the clock
your whispers dance
upon my shoulder
when I'm kneeling
in the garden
you caress my face
in the breeze
when I have the window
down cruising through town
your arm is around me
while I watch my
favorite French movie
your hands are on my hips
while I'm at the stove
cooking a spinach omelet
for breakfast
your hand is warm on my chest
as I turn on my side
in bed and fall asleep
perhaps white butterflies
come back as seagulls
or better yet the small
fluffy clouds that take
shape as other things
and shift their shapes
until they disappear
it's just the same as
the perpetual march
of the flora fountain
diminishing daffodils
bow out to iris glory
for them to yield to
heavy lily perfumes
for all blooming beauty
to yield only to even more
within the heart of
the divine and eternal
to hold the sun
in this skin
as it reminds
us where we've come
from akin to sun
those past ones
that still burn
within our neurons
the firelight
in ancient nights
that bowed out
to new kings to
take new thrones
and reign in
these days of glory
I followed
gladly I followed
your footsteps
through the streets
the alleys dimmed
by building shadows
and labyrinthine paths
I held in my heart
the past images
of you in a striped shirt
while we danced
at the fair
or when you looked
simply looked at me
from across the room
and I was yours
but this time
when we emerged
into a courtyard
where the building facades
were married with vegetation
and we came to a pause
at a door and a line
to wait for entry
I felt a whimper in my chest
as you were two steps
ahead of me
but you looked back to me
held out your hand
motioned for me
and the world was heaven
as you took my hand
the journeys, I know
are supposed to simply be
just that, journeys
adventures out and about
to construct that energy
those paths before us
as an ant may go out to scout
but I have it in me
to always take the dress rehearsals
so seriously
and invest it all in the moment
in the chance I want to take
and rise to look destiny
directly in the eyes
but only find sighs
and the lack of
the not yet
and reminded the journey
is the focus for now
green among
the golden grass remains
both goose and gosling
weave through willow
water's edge
paddling in the puddle
under the barking blackbirds
striped red with wings
off further follows
cattle calls and calves
running with young joy
the early energy
that's spent so soon
and is overly observed
by standing smooth stones
through the years
in the light
and shadow
at the foot
of the spruce
a rabbit hops
between the two
worlds to nibble
on the green grass
unknowing what
its fodder may
have been donned
with by the very ones
who cause the rabbits
to run from this
very moment as
they ride through
the scene on assailant
lawn mowers
here I felt
all was lost
here my hope
all was gone
until you gave
me the keys
to my prison
here I thought
twas all or nothing
here I feared
the ship had sailed
until you turned
the key in the lock
of my prison cell
of fish and fire
that escape from
glasses of water
to dance upon
desktops in sunlight
early in the day
where crows dance
atop the power poles
to the rhythm of robins
who watch a traffic river
so set on destination
flow to and fro
so very far below
still creeps the light
through filtered blind
so fish and fire
can make a daring escape
from the glass of water
I let myself go
last night
I said a farewell
to this one
and my dreams
cut the cord
somewhere in my
ethereal body
blood was pooling
from within
and the physician
at my side
made me aware that
I hadn't long
I looked around at
my life
at all the things in
my house
at the sun in the trees
along the street
at the eyes of those
I loved
and the river of grief
poured out
as the ego within
let go
I asked to
enter your dreams
and for you
to open the gate
and you delivered
though I walked
through the valley
of slot machines
the significance of it
being a dime machine
I won at was not lost on me
but the true win
was returning to our room
where I waited
and when you walked
through the door
and your eyes met mine
I didn't hold back
then the gate slammed shut
if a cloud chooses
to shed a piece
of itself
then a piece of it
drifted downward
in a motion slow and soft
floating through sunlight
and the fingertips of the trees
where spider silks glisten
lifting my hand to catch it
it elusively flowed through
my two inner fingers
not just once but twice
and descended towards
the freshly cut grass
to nestle between the blades
the cool breeze
didn't break through
the solar embrace
while heavy clouds
drifted overhead
the sun filtered
by mulberry branches
returned to gaze
upon a hungry cottontail
grazing upon rampion leaves
and dandelion blossoms
but the bunny must have
longed for greener pastures
and passed through
the gape at the foot of the gate
lit by the evening sun
you are the greatest
distraction in my life
you are the dancing
of the sunlight between
the boards of the fence
you are the movement
just out of view
at the corner of my eye
you are the star
that surrenders and
hurls itself though
the endless night sky
you are the touch
upon my bare skin
from an unseen source
you are the whisper
passing my shoulder
in an empty room
you are the greatest
chance I could ever take
and equally the chance
I never want to miss
movement flows
under harebell leaves
a tiny rarity
pops out at the end
of the overgrown foliage
feathers dressed in
a young fawn's fur
with the sharpest
brightest yellow beak
carried on oversized
clawed feet to easily
grasp any tedious spot
it finds in a marshy home
it pauses with a smirk
to nod an acknowledgment
of the happiness
right around the corner
the scorpion dances
in the midnight sky
holding her glowing
face in its sharp tail
glowing petals fall
from her pale hand
shining scattered in
the celestial bowl
the scorpion holds
within its sharp claws
the fire of the future
burning in its grasp
fleur flames lay down
a path for the lovers
while grains of stars
make a bed for the sage