Loneliness , a humid inferno of a day -
without the promise of rain
The hunted hid within tall grass writhing -
in pain
A drop of water prematurely called to the sky
The stranger at the wood-line in the
tempest twilight
The safety of thick , homemade curtains with
the ringing of chimes
Tears 'neath the silken canopy of night
Queer recollections serviced with anxiety
The blanket persecution of unwanted notoriety

starts off as a whisper in your ear
something you hunger to taste
something you long to feel
and something you yearn to see
Then becomes a tormented dream
something you ache to have
something you crave to savor  
and something that...
just can never **be

When I am a thousand miles away
and you are seemingly a million more
here where I trade the sun for rain
dwell in the intermittent patches of grey
I distract myself in gardens green
study madala art of spider weaves
decaying, diaphanous maple leaves
the cool of wet mud wriggling around my toes
and yesterday the black birds watching me
disturbingly, the cawing crows
and I could hardly think or speak
as I dialed you long distance on the phone.

I am no rock
my heart
is not made
of tiny bits
of stone
it will not
be crushed
like a pile
of ground-up bone
it might be
washed upon
shores
like the most
miniscule of
treasures
found in sand,
unseen to
naked eye
yet so full of
iridescent magic
in a spectrum of colors
a secret world
unto its own
those almost
invisible shapes
jeweled corals
of earth
up from
sea  bottom
in foamy
rebirth
but I will take it
(yes, my heart,
in rawness
and thunder)
and hold it
and nurse it
before it goes under
I will rock it
and soothe it
before it calcifies
as the ocean
invites endless
salt from
my
eyes

I am but an onion
Peel away all my layers
All that's left is my tears