even with these masks,
there's always someone who sees your face.

I pick and choose
among the reeds,
which one will give me fistfuls
of sticky fur.
They stick onto
my palm, within the
lines of skin that
tell the future. I suppose
they know where I will be
better than me.

what we love
we let go

what we hold onto
we love

the life breathing in will quell the dread of a burning day before you; for, in the mornings, the air is fresh and chilled,
and you may graze in the openness

until the flowers fulfill you,
awaken you.

Take your forest path, your field trail, the one you marked yourself
for these moments. And bring the dogs,
let their leashes be loose,
let your soul be freed here, in this scenery.

the ocean batters
reckless waves and constant storms
but the rock is still

hello children.
our lesson today will be on patience.
she is like fire when you try and touch her
but once you have some
it burns for a while.

We don't share the same smile
but I smile when you do.
I'm set on forever...
forever with you.

My eyes see things differently than how things actually are.
Everyone's eyes do.
Our glasses are fogged
we see life through interchangeable perspectives.

where there is love, there is also pain.
but where there is love, there is hope.

Tired, dry, sick, and yet
the snow has never stuck
so wet
instead, it rains
or snows and melts
forget the muck
the pain is felt
without the Winter to deflect us.

the wind is a song
that bends those velvet petals
for the lips of bees

The pilgrimage, across the rocks,
along the shore,
they walk with solace.

Twilight stretches long limbs as they waltz in a line to the edge of the world,

gazing into the depths of the waters to see whatever it is they have come for.

Then the sun slips down and stars make a path for them back to that place of beginnings.

soft and tender and sweet
the love we remember
from her

but from him
it is steady and long
and true

like the star
blinking home
always

I think she isn't sick from sour cream,
but sick with sour dreams.

rain falls, sinks into my skin slowly,
pacing down the path with you on the other line.

we talk for too long, but it flows a little seamlessly,
like a new bend in a stream

and we end on a fine note,
a prelude for the next conversation.

I look at you and see what will not be;
I have been waiting an eternity.
The hope has never dwindled, but has grown,
A longing, no, an ache I've never known.

I look at you and see what will not be;
Yet, somehow you're still captive over me.
The shore with ceaseless waves to reminisce,
meanwhile beneath the moon's so distant kiss.

I look at you and see what will not be;
I cannot help myself, so I give in,
allow the cold salvation of your skin,
if only to prolong eternity.

the booth we all covet
is open and i sit in it alone
taking up all this space
so that i can try not to fall asleep
as i read and listen to music
and procrastinate on my laptop
and look at my phone
and feel the absences and the losses
of nameless entities
i am romanticizing the drone learning has become

i am the pollen of a poisonous flower;
carried by bee
made into honey
collected by keepers;
unintentional reaper.

The myth of what is real -
I want to know the truth.

Does the winding river feel,
does the tree speak of its youth?

in the rain I feel restored

you say,
walk out to the view with me before we go,

and I forget the drone of cities and am looking at it, with you

What do I have that is only mine?

in the spring,
apples never fall
and in the fall,
blossoms never bloom

all the current needs is flow

*** and him.
In a bag. In a memory.
in a long while ago.

today is always today
but tomorrow it will become yesterday
and we will be given a new present
do not forget these moments

in my coffee *** of dreams
where the flowers wilt and die
there are pennies and they gleam
with the light of Luna's eye

we come from dust and star and sky,
admire the place from which we came;
on hills and rooves and grass we lie
to taste the thing we have became.

-- how selfish and fickle we are,
how cruel and kind and strange;
like suns that burn too fast, us stars
so bright, and then, so plain.

eons pass and still we lie,
transfixed by that beloved sky,
and people live, love, quickly die
in a sweet but single breath of time.

gold and yellow yolk leaks
as the shells, brown fragments of armour
tumble into the clear lake

so it must be morning
though the sun sets as we confess resurfacing memories
that break in front of us
like eggs at breakfast

September Jane,
all but plain
standing in
the pretty rain.

Her hair is stained
with pretty rain;
umbrella left
atop the pane.

My sweet September,
do you remember
the pretty rain,
the dying embers?

The stories read
before bed,
the funny rhymes
you always said.

September Jane
where did you go?
I'll greet you when you come.

September Jane
you didn't know
it is the pretty rain you're from.

l'appel du vide

I remember the wind,
howling, messing up my hair like invisible fingers,
hollow with ghosts;

I can see this memory in fragments.
you are there,
but it is your absence that I recognize -
it is the lack of you I see.

Write and
Write and
Write and
Write.
With your pencil
Be the knight.

What covers you, what hides the shoal
that water loves, that winter stole?

What bleak nets would wound you tight,
to hide the basking rays of light

That glimmer on your frothy cliffs,
that pale in beams of pearly mists,

That cloaks your dark complexion. Why
are you now hidden from my eyes?

I love harshly,
in the thicket with sword
I will not yield,
I'll be your shoulder, your shield

When you sing,
the wind responds
against my shoulders;
a lasting ring.

An echo
coming from the empty surface
of the Ocean.
A voice, capturing a soul
too weak to resist such melancholy.
She has desolation hidden in the hollow harmony:
the broken spell has me wanting it more.

I take a step into mellow waters,
salt sticking to my skin,
burning my eyes,
fulfilling her command.
Soon the Ocean's at my neck,
my chin,
lingering above my parted lips.
I hesitate,
wait for her song to call once more.
The water floods in.
I am suffocating,
but I want to.

It's such a peaceful thing,
watching the sky disappear above you.
I was sinking to the bottom
of a hungry abyss.

legs burn and weave the story,
a tapestry of snow

and wind yawns in a flurry,
a sanction that we go.

Sleep
all the words holding me
soothing me
sedating me.
I don't resist because she is comfort
comfort in letting go and thinking,
dreaming, wishing, hoping, creeping.
Creeping back into myself, finally.
My eyelids weren't heavy
but having them closed makes me sway
in and out and slowly down.
Down into a dark place.
I am not afraid.
My mind is its own anchor
my body losing feeling
my heart slowing.
I am at peace within myself.

I feel bruised everywhere.
On my mind, in my mouth, on my body.
I've been figuratively punching myself,
and selfconciously depriving my bruises of the ice needed to heal.
Sorry hands, but I like the colour purple.

beneath the door
a yellow line

what's happening
on the other side

hours gone
spent talking alone

wishing you
could go back home

a knock, a sigh,
a hushed goodbye

I'll be here till
the end is nigh

I'll be the bedrock of your home