Even when together is so far apart,
Something is good enough to keep going.

And when you’re alone remember...

That deep in every eye is a soul—
And there is only one like that.

And every word spoken
Is a human attempt,
to convey the complexity
of an utterly unique human experience
never to be felt again.

And that our bodies contain—
for a moment in time—
the power
to create life.

And then when we pass,
life will go on
Forever.

I am human
and I have lived, and breathed, and seen...
and fallen and stood,
and loved and lost.

And I seek.
And I seek.

And I breathe, and I look, and I live.

And I live.
And I love.
And I see.

Once the summer passes,
It’s really gone.

Never to return
In that particular, summer flavor.

So sweetly savored—
Or perhaps eagerly consumed,
Without a moment to enjoy...

Tides have come to rise and fall
Over familiar sand lands

Many suns and moons
have shone upon the shores

Children have laughed,
Mothers have rested.

Ice cream has melted
Down sticky hands.

Hot, starry skies
Have nurtured romance...

Life has bloomed
And as it appears-
And nothing has died.

But when summer passes,
It’s really gone.

Like the tide, the moon and the sun
Again to rise
In its rightful time...

Beyond the gripes and strife of the fruitful,
we are, the work-force.

Our eyes are dull,
but our product glimmers before us.

We labor and toil
And on our Labor Day

The real laborers -
We labor.

We work.
Because that is our identity
And that is what we do.

Stamped into us like a US quarter dollar.

Our state, our year, our Motto.
This is who we are-

A true representative of the United States.

But on this Labor Day-

When our arthritic hands,
Take a moment to rest,

And our minds pause,
To appreciate the fruits of our labor.

What we have contributed to-
With our finite breaths and beats of the heart...

Well, as for me -
I don’t much like the end product.
Of all this toil and labor.

I don't need a shiny object to observe.
I just want the light back in my eyes.

There are no numbers to the days,
or the words i have written.
Life cannot be contained by
something so linear.

Life is more like a word  -
or a gesture -
or breath...

But certainly not a clock,
represented by digits -
fleeting and repeating...

No, life is more like a dance.
with a partner who
gazes deeply upon you,
and moves you
in ways you could have never imagined.

Only to vanish -
mid dance.

How kind life can be
when she cradles me
as peacefully,
night falls.

The cerulean sky beats with life
And the homes stand still beneath her.
And the trees lift their tender branches,
Wet with morning dew,
Toward her vital hue.

From my window
I watch life wake.

Alive-
Another day.