The canoe kept us
apart
each on our own
hard metal bench,
closer to each other
than we had been
in months.

We rode
finally
in the same direction,
paddling
first on one side,
then the other.

In the calming moments
when rocks were not
running up
to test us,
we found places
to lay our paddles down
and glide
in the quietness.

Both of us
checking
the sky for clouds.

Waiting for your life to begin

Waiting for your team to win


Waiting for the bus to arrive

Waiting for your kid to strive


Waiting for the rain to pass

Waiting for the bell after class


Waiting for the job of your dream

Waiting for things to become what they seem


Waiting for inspiration to come

Waiting to become rich and then some


Waiting for a person to change

Waiting for motion to become a range


Waiting for a bad mood to disappear

Waiting for your head to clear


Waiting for your boss to see your worth

Waiting for heaven on earth


Waiting for what is your due

Waiting for a cue


Waiting for someone to understand

Waiting for your enemies to be banned


Waiting for the world to get better

Waiting for that liberating letter


Waiting for something that will never come

Waiting for things to become undone


Waiting for wisdom to teach you

that waiting is just loosing time to get through

So sad that i have to feel this way
I'm drowning in my own thoughts, everything is pounding on my brain and rushing out my eyes
At this point I'm not surprised you have no pity for me
However, always know that for you I care deeply making you run away

These walls begin to speak.  Cover them up so they don't spill.  Silence the dancers foot steps that we hear.  Noises always creeping up and then disappear.  Shut them up and nail inconveniences to the the floor. And fade away to see if your voice remains.  Its always easier to seem dead in disguise when everyone lies.  And you can read in between every line.  But don't stay to long because consciousness fades, an everlasting date.  Truth becomes lies and everyone has alibis, not to know the difference between black and white.  Nails grow longer and faces become faker.

The spring is fresh and fearless
   And every leaf is new,
The world is brimmed with moonlight,
   The lilac brimmed with dew.

Here in the moving shadows
   I catch my breath and sing—
My heart is fresh and fearless
   And over-brimmed with spring.

In the garden,
an old man sits
head bowed over a book.

And the breeze softly turns the page.

His eyes
that no longer heed the author's words
that once knew beauty and tears and smiles
are dim.

And the breeze softly turns the page.

His hand
that once fitted perfectly another's,
that remembered the warm softness of a baby's hair
and the icy clasp of snow
is cold.

And the breeze softly turns the page.

His heart
that once beat with the rhythm of passion and excitement
and the gentler cadence of love
is still.

And the breeze softly closes the book.

When she turned her gaze upon me,
I was a mote of dust
caught in a beam of sunlight
I was huge and beautiful
and bright.

I laughed and danced
and shone.

And when she turned away,
a cloud moved across the sun
and I was extinguished.