I was searching for myself
A journey for my lost soul
When I felt drawn to something
And fell into your black hole
Attracted to dark matter
How could I ever resist
Who knew that getting so lost
Would be the right catalyst

Who bends the wind
folds it up
puts it in the envelope
then will send

Who gathers the sun
like a flock
bottles it then
says it's done

Who ropes my emotional
ties it and then binds it
in black and red ribbons
it's not fictional

Who teases the vessel
filling the void
where even the left
has a right to wrestle

Come vapor ***** . . . dream
permanate . . . decorate
you titillate in love's
sweet scheme

When ? Then I am left alone
the walls still stand
The night wails as comes the dawn
The heart longs for home

There are secrets I do not tell
even to myself.
They are the same secrets
the cherry bossoms
know when they
proliferate the cherry trees.
Even as they prepare
to fall like confetti.

They are the
babbling secrets
Of  the mountain streams
as thier waters bounce stunned
into the rocks of the rapids.

Hush whispers the librarian
As the rows
and volumes of books.
Keep their dusty secrets
in her silence.

In the garden
The fluted speakers
Of the morning glory.
Sing only silence
Falling asleep
into dreaming nights.

Just about audible
the taunting voices
Of the
whippoorwill

Never tell
Never tell
Never tell.

the jagged edges which gashed
his bare feet on the trash trove of shore by his trailer
slashed the folds of his memory as well

he chooses to tell no tales of that
hungry, motherless time--sharp years when he prayed
his dad would be passed out when he got home

and he usually was, there
on the cat **** sofa, splayed out like some beached whale
while he scavenged for food, and old pop bottles

a lifetime now from those foul filled days
he is a continent away, yet living on the shore,
with a fat portfolio and thin wife

who both protect him from "intrusive thoughts,"
though still he hunts for treasures on the sands, not
the nickel returns that bought his daily bread

instead, he seeks more ancient relics, glass
made smooth by the round chisel of time--soft, cool, full of color,
with no recollection of the fire that forged it

we see the same sun
and stars
you and i
breathing in
the same air
tasting
the same water
and yet
we struggle
trying to teach
to teach each other
of our want to
be loved

soft and broken soul
you are already
beloved
you are precious
beyond measure
so believe me
when i say
even the smallest sparrow
knows of your heart
even when you
have no words to say

In a reverie of joyous thoughts
I take myself to other worlds
Where tinkling streams of crystal flow
And summer breezes gently blow

Where beds of darkness love to  bloom
Beneath the cusp of a crescent moon
And stars that shine their light bright
Silver the paling ends of night

And when at dawn, the sun rises
To write poetry with rays of quill
The hills come alive with the scented  ink
Of  sunflowers and daffodils

Here clouds at dusk touch the earth
And drizzle rain on yearning trees
Nature's rhapsodic songs
Sing in unchained melodies

In this world of happy thoughts
Such sweet and joyous visions see
I linger there, longer to dream
In the solitude of a reverie

once
just once I got weak
I felt the whole weight
of the world like Atlas
I took it on
held up the global
inequities
until I fell down
around the ankles
of God