for as a summer day was had
before the rain
between the heat
she shackled, sliding
her sweetest gaze
between the roof
beyond the haze

and as she shimmered
silence listened
between her breaths
above the children
the blackness gasped a purple spot
and mothers danced
the raining shot

because beyond the people stand
the hands, the face
the mother land
beyond the selfish
above the cruel
between the violence
about the soul

she dances
spreading quaking laughs
the brittle branches
happily splash
the wind it loves
her silly games
he plays along
makes swirly rains

they all continue
as they should
beneath the will
inside the could
because as all the
weather folks know
she does not
will not
obey them so

she leaps, she sings
her made up song
just how she feels
she’s never wrong
she dances
with her sweetest gaze
between the roof
beyond the haze

I call you through Audible
the auspicious click- whirrrrrr
of voice-violin-strings

(sometimes wind tells me
you don't listen)
the empty response
of car upholstery
gnaws on
my attempts?

(But you answer through Poets)
the punctuated; nonsense
of- everything Important
slammed stuck. stretched-
like pebbles plopping
from your bluest you

clasp me in the jar of your maternity
***** it tight
so that when I sing
it echoes into all the chambers of your heart

reign me in like an
expensive decorative fish
in a shark tank

fly me to the door
slip me out of it
then cry for the good work
you have accomplished.

but forever
shove me
enclose me
encase the colors of your
sorrow
into the flowers of your
joy

for a mother’s greatest
bitter taste
feeds us better than the
richest feast

When I am bittering myself
with butterflies
of my own painting
Don’t stop yourself.
pick up a paintbrush.

forever catch me
latch me
grasp me as your jubilant burden
neglect your sticky fear
for it is evermore
as close as the horizon

Oh thou, partaker of peace
with whom I swim in wondrous myriads of blessings-
we pass them,
like handfuls of smooth hard rice
beneath a mist of translucent courage

oh that I could stay
betwixt this hollow of hope
forever waxing and waning
with every tender breath you steal

but go now.
with my hands at your back-
I will slap you if you stay
for I will be within your feather heavy heart
like a twist inside a pocket watch

we count time together.
so go.

These
mauve colored seats with the classic
delta pattern
have never looked good.  
They don’t when I sit in them,
they didn’t when you sat in them.

but you did sit in them.
so they are my favorite part of this room.

or maybe I like best the awkward colored walls
made from ribbed tan brick.
I like them because you hated them too.

No.
now that I am
scanning this cumbersome auditorium
the unwieldy
plastic
beige clock
which must have been counting seconds
for thirty years at least
stands out
as the most fantastic element
because it clumsily timed your Poli Sci lectures
too.

I laugh across the ages to you
we comment on the drab melancholy
with weary satisfaction.
As I warm the same mauve seats
where you once took identical notes.

my eyes
like grey, dish-has-been-washed-liquid
mellow at the sh-sh of night

but my mouth
brook babbles
blinking rapidly
like distracted toddler eyes
popping your name into the yes of time
to sample your existence

YOU’RE NOT MY PROJECT. IT’S NOT MY JOB.
I tiptoed inside your eyes and found
a simpler tune, a softer sound
a curve in your straight-backed regime
to hate the world, to dim your gleam
YOU’RE NOT MY PROJECT. IT’S NOT MY JOB.
I pickaxed deftly your hushed façade,
to break your cool, your soul to ****,
I was rewarded, you melted thick
I bit your nails down to the quick
YOU’RE NOT MY PROJECT. IT’S NOT MY JOB.
I chanted slyly my Godspeed rhyme,
(behind the veil of passing time)
your soul rose like a fish to fly
your mind ignored and passed it by
YOU’RE NOT MY PROJECT. IT’S NOT MY JOB.
I’ve pricked your thoughts sharp, now I’ll wait
(I can’t force you to take the bait)
your life will dance if you but heed
but I will melt if you’ve no need.

This sounds like a conspiracy theory.

She said bitterly, stoically
               I agree-
                          Said he
I think we are talking about being brainwashed
              I agree-
Think of the children!  The little ones caught in this mush of politics!
              I agree-
If we stay here and do nothing, the world will soon collapse! You know that dear?
             I agree-
This is a problem too wretched to handle! We should probably move to Canada.
                     …
Why can’t we do anything about this dilemma?!  What is to be done?
             I am a man of few words-
I am a woman of far too many.
             I agree.

Between the streets of skepticism strong,
if when you lace the light of joy and fail,
if violent gestures thick command the throng,
and solemn lips proclaim their faith went stale
then Halt! and know that I believe: the hands
that heal though we have pierced them in our sin,
the generations numbered as the sands,
the golden book, and seeds of faith within

My voice which beckons from a distance space
and begs you to sustain your love through grace.