there is a fountain of living water
yet I stand beside it
lapping my tongue in the water
of a broken cistern
baffled by my continual thirst.

oh to see myself
as white as
the blinding snow
under the sun.

today I am drifting into dreams
of one day holding you,
hearing your laugh,
watching your wiggling toes
muddy from running outside all day.

I don't know where you're from
but I know where you'll be.
Head on my shoulders
when your heart gets broken,
in my arms
when you wake from a nightmare.

And I don't know what you've been through,
but I know what you'll do.
Walk across stages,
fall in love,
try new things that scare you.

I don't know everything that will happen,
but one thing is sure.
You will be loved more the you know,

my son.

what used to bring me
to me knees,
now merely makes me wobble.

you feel like
cool winds on a hot day,
warm showers and soft blankets.

you sound like
good music on record players,
with rhythm and melody,
girl bands and Rivers Cuomo.

you taste like
good coffee full of simple undertones
with geographic names,
sweet bloom and huck.

you are real things,
tangible and touching senses.

Maybe it's not the waterfall
I hoped or dreamed of
gushing and glistening in the sun,

but the river I look at
is the one that I love
so it's trickles and ripples
will be all that I ask for.

I can tell that I have grown.
Yesterday, you left.
But I remained unshaken.
Something that would have
whitened my knuckles,
but I said it was okay.
I knew I was okay.

And then I let myself
celebrate my soundness
and I had more joy in me
than if you had stayed.

you are not my life
only a part of it.

you are not the sun I revolve around
nor am I the soul that gave you life.

no you are not my tide nor my moon
my vine or my rain.

you are a part to the whole
a mere part
a mere soul.

let us not run
to the gift we receive
nor forget the cost
of such a gift,
like a child on Christmas morning.

let us not cling to the gift
but to the giver.

I crave it.
Like a mother longing to kiss her child
and stair at the contour of his face,
as lovers stair at each other's smiles for hours
because it fills them

with a hope that beauty can come from
the simplest of objects-
nose
mouth
cheek,
brush
pigment
canvas.

If it please God,
renew the girls.
Let them breath in
again, take in
oxygen, live in
the world again.
Take away
all the fire,
make them sparrows
to soar the land,
remand your
wretched offenders
and silence
their using,
soothing and saving
all beloved daughters
to yourself,
Take off their heavy chains.
Make them worthy and
free of pain.

(In the form of Blandeur by Kay Ryan)

I sat in the car for an hour today
reading and
writing
poetry.

She said it wouldn't take too long
but that's okay.
An hour of wasted time
some may say.
No, not to me.
An hour of wasted rights,
maybe.

I never knew it was so cool to vote.
So I'll just sit here and
read and
write
poetry.

like a torpedo
plunging into the ocean
nose-down and self-propelled
it dives in.
leaving a great splash for all to see
the ripples following flow freely
and I cannot stop them from spreading.

like a fledgling finding the ground
my heart falls fast.

Out of place and all alone.
I find myself searching
for someone like me
with blonde hair, green eyes,
same tongue.
I connect to nothing,
except the wifi signal around me.

But why?
Why do I not connect to the woman next to me?
To the man with his daughter asleep in his lap?

I see no smiles or laughs
only a woman crying.
At least that is something.
There, there it is.
Real emotions.
Something to connect us.

come to me
my arms are open, my heart is wide.

no matter who you've worshiped
or what you have done,

no matter who you've been
or what you think you've become,

there is nothing to hide
for I am gracious and loving
and you are mine.

even the moon wanes and changes.

not all are howlers,
plump and full.
some nights a mere sliver,

but no matter the day
or the night
it is still there,

constant as the sun.

you are fearless
you have never been in love before
but I have.
please take it easy with me.
I have scars and scares I am
still getting over.

there are some things you should know.
like how being in love
has nothing to do with commitment.
you can still come and go
in love.
sometimes it is because
you are in love that you leave.

so maybe that is why I don’t
say it as often.
it is not that I do not feel in love
it may be that I am just
learning to let myself
feel in love again.

because I know what it is like
to break promises
and to have promises broken.

it’s in those moments
when I forget all about you.
you bring up the sun
paint the sky with bright orange.
you lift the mountain
and dust it with yellow aspens.
you form the clouds into a foamy sea
and show me your greatness.
and remind me I am yours
and gain my attention again.

you make me forget everything.
you make me forget the heartache
and mistakes,
all regrets.
what I ate yesterday
or that I’m hungry,
what I just said
and where we’re going.
the nightmare I dreamt last night.
you make me forget the rest of the year before I met you,
because all things changed when I met you and felt you.
all things change with you.

your words mean more to me than you know.
the compliments and criticisms alike replay in my head
over and over.
at each utterance and letter
my heart grins or grieves,
I can be built up like a tower
or come crumbling down.

for you have me heart,
so speak gently.

you have gone through a lot,
little heart.
you have been to places I cannot imagine.
you have seen sorrow I have never seen.
little heart- you are strong.
your outer covering is of pure leather that no nail can penetrate,
but your core is soft and sweet and I can see it peaking through.
little heart - you are mine
and I will protect you
as best as my own
frail heart
can do.

We need Artists.
We need Creators.
Who else would take our chins
by the tips of their fingers,
rotate our heads,
turn our crusted eyes
from the screens
and bleak skies,
and show us beauty
and fill our hearts,
and give us hope.