the streets are quiet
the world is still
i finally notice
the birds chirping
on my windowsill

tell me how
the most broken
beaten down
torn up
stripped to the flesh
people

could ever get back up
brush off the dirt
and carry on
like nothing ever
happened.

I went to the kitchen
hot milk and yeast
to calm me

I climbed up
out of the pit
to get here

giving up
confused
giving up what I know

looking for the ****
of consolation
and safe harbor

I came here
to make sense
of the confusion

my tears coming
from a place new
strange uncharted

Twain is here
maybe Plath
not my Path

searching for
the Sage in me
Is she here?

you tell me

Day is almost done and twilight upon us.
The cosmic bartender calls
“last call for the light of day”
  back aches from gardening
and no walking or swimming
you have to love the pain
from doing what you love.

There comes a point where you dance.
And not the same for everyone,
but you must dance.
Because when your heart has been still and stuck in sadness
you must give it a little chaos after.
After what, you may ask?
After you're broken.
After your heart feels absolutely shattered to its core.
After you and your love have been at war.
After a long day at work.
Just after.
Anything.
Anything, where your heart has hurt
you MUST dance.

Spring
green and full.
Hawthornes
lovely in thorniness of pink blossoms.
Not to be out done
Dogwoods
lift their faces to the sky.