I was out on a winter's morn
Picking up toppled rocks
and mending wall .

By perchance my neighbor he was due .
But he was taking down the rocks and hauling them off until his face turned blue

"What gives ?" , I querried of him .

"I've been accused that my mind is walled in ! I'm out here to disprove all of them ."

"I think that was a literal figure of speech . You've over reacted and broken breech !"

He paused to wipe the sweat
I thought surely now he would realize yet .

But he continued to dismantle the wall .

If he was playing poker he would be raising the bet after he made the last call .

There's a little
boy that hides in
the dark corners of
my soul.
He doesn't want to
be hurt anymore.
I spent eight years
with Beth.
For the most part,
it was hell and
constant pain.
She made nightmares
look good.
I heard the
little boy cry
late into the
silky night,
while snails got
smashed on the streets
of Ventura.

When I drank, which was often,
the little boy seemed
at peace for awhile,
while swans were
murdered in Venice,
and I tasted the ashes
of Neruda.
Years flew by
like seagulls;
up
down
and darting.
The little boy
continued to
hide in the
dark corners of my soul.

He wanted to
come out and be loved.
He was thirsty for it,
but there wasn't
any around.
It was dry, like the
deserts in hell.
It's too late for
sorries here comes
the plow.

He began to see
the pattern of life.
Some monsters walk in the light.
Vulnerability equals pain.
The little boy got mean.
And now he carries
a knife.

the bird takes flight
into a starless night

into the long, lonely why
of endless sky.

trapped bird must fly
or surely she will die

"I like you!"
I wished to shout,
Something rare, right about.
A spark that burned through.

But I never knew you,
Well, it was for an instant—
We came upon,
I saw you, only you.
(And you never saw me.)

You never saw me,
I was translucent.
A shadow,
A breath between moments.
A whisper lost in crowded hums.

What we could be—
You never thought to oversee
Yet, only I hesitated.
Only I remained reluctant.
Only I remained reluctant.

I wish I were the ever-changing sky,
shifting hues without hesitation, turning, moving, never staying still.
It does not wait for anyone, nor does it shrink itself for what has already passed.
But I am small and starving,
like a bird perched on the edge of what was.
I peck at crumbs, hoping for more but never asking.

I fly, searching every corner, only to find the same stones.
I turn them over again and again.

How unkind I’ve been to myself, letting my wings grow weary
and my heart reach this point of exhaustion.
But how could I build a nest to rest when home stopped being a place?
Was I too weightless for the wind to carry?
I wanted to be heavy enough to leave an imprint,
to become more than a memory lost in the breeze.

Let me be the sky.