white pages before me
pure as snow

no mark, no scratch
no story to show

page after page
waiting to be used

patient, at peace
excited, and amused

each page a day
of the future world

anticipating the time
when their purpose will unfold

who will be a part of them?
everyone but those yet to be

who will enjoy them most?
the people who now get ready

This bed
is a sad cafe
and morning
a table
I drank from
like a legacy
of one who once
loved
a woman
in a blue dress
draped
on the floor
like a rug
by the door.

I feel useless.
I feel trapped in a preciously dangerous box
but it seems that no one wants me out
Only restrained
By the fickle hope that maybe someday I will be normal.

Like other girls.

I want to be the smartest girl  
or maybe the prettiest girl for once?

l want to be the one that stands out
I desire your recognition of my accomplishments,
which aren't too many and much to be proud of.

I want to be someone's something
That maybe leaves them awestruck
And I can't help thinking that
maybe
I am it,
but how useless would that be,
to assume I am everyone's something?

We must not neglect,
each other's tenderness,
pushing forward,
the unknown is a moment,
in the midst of everything.

silence
flows differently
than quiet —

she trickles
like a spring creek;
he tumbles
like warm sand.

The long waves glide in through the afternoon
while we watch from the island
from the cool shadow under the trees where the long ridge
a fold in the skirt of the mountain
runs down to the end of the headland

day after day we wake to the island
the light rises through the drops on the leaves
and we remember like birds where we are
night after night we touch the dark island
that once we set out for

and lie still at last with the island in our arms
hearing the leaves and the breathing shore
there are no years any more
only the one mountain
and on all sides the sea that brought us