Season after season.
I've gazed upon you
through my window.

I've seen the snow hang low
upon your branches.
With white upon red berries.
I've watched the snow melt away
to reveal new buds,
opening,
ever so slowly,
to leaves so green.
In early Spring.

I've watched all the creatures
hop, climb, and fly among
your branches.
I've watched the birds taste
your blood-red berries.
I've seen songbirds...
Nuthatches,
finches, and chickadees.
Come to the feeders.
That hang from you.
I've seen the squirrels steal
seeds from the birds.
As their little paws unlatch
a little hook.
I've heard the birds sing among your
branches.
So sweetly.
I remember when the chickadees
built their nest in you,
and then watched their young fledge.
I remember the year the woodpecker
came knocking at your trunk's door.
As he drilled his beak into you.
And made a hole.
After that.
You were never the same anymore...

I watched your life slowly end.
Another year.
Another season.
More dead branches to be severed.
Fewer buds.
Fewer leaves.
As your story slowly drew to a close.

Yesterday,
they chopped down what was left of you.
But I will always remember you.
And I thank the Lord for the joy
of beholding your beauty.
Of watching your story.
You have blessed so many creatures.
Including me.
Farewell,
Beautiful Mountain Ash tree.

why close
    the petals of your heart
       or shrivel in gloom  
        bury the worries    
         to inhale sacred
         scents of earth
            touched be
        by comely smiles
        of blooming lilies
           and struck be
        by delightful notes
              of robins
         perched on trees
           shines 'pon us
          the sun glorious
         our precious jewel
         of radiant warmth  
     abundant peace to seek
         for our weary being
    under the protective shed
        with twinkling stars

On my way back,
He got angry at the seats
Assigned separately.
A little too far,
She, a little too dimwitted,
Those who travel together
Sit together,
Now don't normal families do!
But we couldn't,
The seats were empty,
We were the first few to arrive,
She has no excuses
Other than her mindlessness.
I stopped the formal complaining
And would sort it I say.
(Rough edges).

In the aisle, a small traffic
I, the second car.
After a brief, polite but angered spat
We sat sepearate,
Say I will sort it.
The man I could tell
Spoke my tongue,
I waz getting better at observing.
After two lines of request he agreed,
And I waited for the aisle to empty.
(Questions. Answers.)

In the wait,
The man behind got up
And offered his place,
I couldn't thank him enough,
Our frivolity
Made his act a nobelity,
I declined.
We smiled at each other
Our truest of smiles
And things were better again.
We were one big family,
Looking after the other.
The man of my tongue
And the man of my family
Drifted off to a conversation,
And I to a digital page.
I can't speak for the noble man,
I didn't look at him again.
(Silence)

After a light meal,
I am craving a tea,
That's the first thing I ask now
Everytime I come home.
(It might be red.)

in the secluded shell
            of night
   crimson lips unseal
                                                                ­  
 cosmic stillness stirred
   flower ripples tinted
    with touches tender
      on quivering skin
                                                            ­      
       in moon’s breast
     burns a fire tonight
the primeval fire of passion
              in it melt              
   crystals of our emotions
               pristine  

            a night-sky
            bliss-soaked
             bejeweled

  stars hanging complicit

Wait with me. Wait for the world to exist.
Wait for what she will tell us.

True, our breath echoes the sea’s
sweeping tide. The inky bleeding
of saltwater that calms and soaks.
Drenched, this collective exhale.
I’ve always preferred silk over velvet;
that’s what the sea is. Silk over velvet.

The moon has seen every unholy rite,
her glare is cast cold. Over the Mysteries,
over me. Every pulse of her is lapped
up by the sea beneath. This shared breath
is echoed in the sea is echoed in the moon;
the universe folds itself. Lives inside a gasp.

Wait with me. Wait for the world to exist
by her own rules.

Our stars are fading like so many discarded
loves. The world is tired, she crumbles
our castles. Crumbles our convent,
exhausts our goddesses. Daughter of life,
who slipped through Death’s doorway;
she sinks below. A seasonal existence.

Sunset spills red on the horizon, dedicates
her evenings to us. We exist by her signal
and her permission. She stretches her skin
for the moon. Lays herself as a blanket
on which night may sleep, cradled and safe;
a nest of stars. We all seek Dawn’s relief.

Wait with me. Wait for the world to exist
in anger, in yellow, in rain.

Rest your head against mine
close the eyes and breathe
no matter how low or high the sigh
entangle the knot to sought and believe

Where did it all begin?
stride the riotous rides,
in which you seek from within
Only to find yourself being swept from the tides

Wariness and insidious greed
bred together by incongruence
create destructions dangerously,
wholly, precariously upon decadence
all the answers cannot be provided
to some degree, eliminate;
Hindered visions unseeingly drag,
raising its toxicity but unknowingly disseminate
with thorough cleanse and repair.

Among the countless highlands,
lies the shelter of coziness.
More than one route is present;
thou shall not take the shortcut.
Like the tumbling earthquakes,
grounds will cry out.
Spontaneous happenings are passing:
Noons of misery and
Nights of sorrow shall leave.

Conformity, veracity, and
acceptance mend purpose
Unfold the map gradually,
Excavate and explore into the surface,
Thrive and reclaim spools of upholstery.

Rest your head against mine
open the eyes and breathe
no matter how short or long the time
entangle the knot to sought and seek...
When will it all begin?