I can see how poorly
you have been sleeping
maybe your need a new mattress
one with more foam
and less memory

or maybe its the blanket
you have weaved
out of the ghosts
you can’t stop yourself from haunting
maybe its time to make a new one
from the days you
haven’t lived through
the nights you haven’t dreamt of
the names you haven’t spoken
the days you could walk
through doors instead of walls
the nights you could walk
with your hands empty
of your rattling past

maybe its the pillows heavy
with the salt of tears
filled with oceans
maybe your head would stop
drowning in its sleep
if you slept on something safer
something lighter
maybe let the past
sink in its own wreckage
use those old pillows as tombstones
at the bottom of the sea
you can’t forget
but you can let go of

let go

let go

and lets go to sleep

we stumbled through the dark
not knowing who
or what we were
swimming towards a finish line
we didn’t know was there
winning a prize
we didn’t ask for
or know what to do with

then for nine months
we grew in the blessed soil
of our mothers body
completely unaware
of being completely unaware

until a pair of hands pulled us
form the days of then
into the days that staked
into these days of now

once so small
we were not visible
to the human eye
how oddly we formed
in the ocean of our mothers belly
what strange things we become
(do you ever miss your tail?  I do...)

time seems a mischievous trickster
a dishonest magician
one minute a nascar driver
the next hour a lost snail
circling the same path

it seems we would remember
more of our first breath
the first time we saw
our mothers face
felt our fathers hand

we are far too old
by the time we can appreciate
how beautiful it was
to be an age where
we knew so little
yet believed in so much

how horrible it is to look back
and witness the ****** of magic
we once carried
in such great abundance

we are tricked into
this idea of growing up
horse pickles to that ship
I wont be sailing
on that boat anytime soon

adults are tragically misinformed
what they have gained
is not worth
what they had to give up

and it’s not that I still believe
in Santa Claus
its that I know the truth
of how he really is

its unfortunate how many parents
are too busy trying
to teach their kids
the this and that
of the that and this
of the world
too few know
how to sit still long enough
to listen and realize
how much their children
have to teach them
to remind them
of how precious and wonderful
it is to believe in the things
that are worth believing in
to remind them that magic
is a gift of love
and love is in everything
that is magic

how carelessly we fail to notice
the magic all around us
how willfully we waste
this short life
how many unnecessary
burdens we carry
how shamefully
we pass them down

growing old is inevitable  
and that in itself is a good thing
time maybe mischievous
and dishonest
the cuckoo clock may always
speak in fibs of hours
and fairy tale minutes
for the only time we have
is the only time it ever is

a brief pause of eternity
as we unknowing stumble
through this now
hardly aware of who
or what we are
or what to do
mistaking life for something
less than magic
instead of feeling how much
of it is filled with love

The sun wept marigold tears
  and we were too busy
   in the toil of our own grief

     to notice

     to pause

     to ask her why

nor did we bother
  to pay attention
   to the splitting seam
    in the sky
or how all the colors
  bleed that day

but Death in all her gentleness

   paused

sat quietly with the sun
  gently wiped the tears
   from her cheek
    held her hand
and waited while the sun
  mourned what needed
    to be mourned

then Death pulled a thread
  from the fabric of her robe
   and stitched the tearing seam
    in the sky

and then with all
  the bleeding colors
    painted a long overdue sunset
     on the never ending horizon

she walked into the coffee bar
and was greeted
by the usual smiles
from the usual faces
and the usual hands
crafted her usual drink
to its usual perfection

casual warm smiles
were exchanged
along with the payment
for for the beverage
and service provided
both sweet and friendly

she walked to the corner
in the back
her favorite spot  
not overly bright in the day
and not under lit in the evening

she slouched back
into the booth
and found the
comfortable crooked curve
she liked in her spine
sipped the swan
off the top of her latte
and opened her sketch pad

her pen slowly twirled
in her hand
dancing between her fingers
pausing to

  tap-pa

    tap-pa
    
      tap-pa

on the fresh blank page

she thought of what he would say
her lips scrunched up
and raised slightly
towards her right cheek
while her pen continued
to tap dance on the page
and pirouette perfectly
on the tippy tip of her fingers

maybe he would make a joke

no...

he would be too nervous
he was after all
shy and timid
her mirrored reflection
in almost all accounts

perhaps small talk
something about the recent
peculiar habits of the weather
or maybe the terrible new muffins
that with great deception
looked so wonderfully yummy
behind the glass counter display

no...

they were both
too fond of silence
to break it over things
that were so trivial

no matter what he said
he would be nervous
and would try and fail
to hide this fact
behind his ever present
awkward smile

she knew what he wanted to say
that she wanted to hear him say it
but that it couldn’t just be said

not straight out

they were words too big
to pass through his throat
words too loud for her ears

words that could wait
words that could be said
without being spoken aloud
and still be heard

he had to say something though
awkward silence
though a specialty
they both excelled at
had both its place
and limited charm
and this was not its time
or place to be charming

she clicked the back of the pen
and placed the ball on the page
and started to make
lines and curves
some smooth
some jagged
a rhythm of uncertainty
from her moving hand and wrist

she imagined the sound
of his voice
and started to sculpt
and mold it into words
they floated there in her mind
juggled themselves
between past and present
metaphors and prose
truth and...

she smiled as she figured it out

he would tell her a lie

a harmless mess
of obvious mischief
not meant to fool
or mislead

but to entertain
and to humor
to hide
the much heavier truth
in plain sight

a small but loud giggle
and snort escaped her
and she shrank down
a little in her corner

she composed herself
sat up just a little bit straighter  
and then she began to write....

He saw her again
  the girl who wasn't
    the imaginary one
she slowly sauntered
  through the fading
    of a dream
     to the other side
   and sat quietly
     at the end of his bed

Smiling like the Grinch
  perfect dimples at both ends
   of her sugar red lips
eyes as full as the moon
  ready to ******
she never said a word
  out loud
but spoke in perfect clarity
  to his heart

“What a strange joy we find
  in the need to love”

She stood and wandered
  from here to there
soft as a ghost
   she stopped at his bookshelf
running her fingers
  down the spine
   of the books
pausing from time to time
  to pull one out
   flip through the pages

     stop

    and read for a moment

sometimes laughing

sometimes sighing

sometimes hiding a brief sob

He laid under the cover
  of his blanket and sheets
    careful to be motionless
      fearing any movement
       would cause her to vanish
      from sight and memory

as if she heard his thoughts

  and perhaps she did

    she turned and smiled

“What good are our eyes
  when we look at the things
    only our hearts will remember
   and are memories anything more
     than dreams of things
       that once were
    played infinitely on the repetition
  of the waves crashing at the edge
and shores of Oceans End?”

She turned back to the books
  tilting her head
   continuing her ritual
she would occasionally turn
  fireworks bursting in her eyes
   show him the book
     she had freshly picked
       from the crowded shelves
      and then bring it to her chest
        right over her heart
         and hug it tightly
her impossibly wide smile
  growing somehow wider
she nodded with approval
  before turning
    and placing it back
      in the crowd

He didn’t know if
  it was night or day
   or how long he
    had been laying there
     watching her skim over
       pick up
        and read through
        book after book
       he tried to stop himself
      from thinking about
   the reality of things
of how she was

    the girl who wasn’t

     the one he imagined

when his heart was
  at the verge of feeling

     too lonely

     for too long

when he feared that
  the comforts of solitude
    would become...

      uncomfortable

And on cue she replied
  to the thoughts
   he meant not to think...

“Silly silly boy....
   who imagined who
     was it me or was it you...
    go back to sleep
   and when the stars
  have time again to dream
I will see you
  as you will see me...
    never more and nothing less
       than some imagined dream”

She hugged one last book
  and placed it tenderly back
   smiled as warm as the noon day sun
    paused at the bathroom door
      resisting the urge to turn around
       and see her empty bed

“who imagined who...”
she laughed at herself
looked at her reflection
in the mirror
faked a smile
an impossibly wide smile
and started to hum

“Somewhere”

and stepped into her shower
thinking to herself

someday...

someday...

she reads out loud
the works of Shel Silverstein
between dusk and dawn
and knew a thing or two
about a tiger
and a mischievous little boy
and she could make him blush
from the inside out
yet they were never
in the same place
at the same time
planets apart
ghosts haunting different hearts
in different houses
soft spoken whispers
of silk poetry
lining the hours of longing
drifting in and out
with the moonlight
lips that only kissed
in fiction and rhyme
little white lies of lily's
scattered between the stars
sweet cherry dreams
of imagined sin
and somewhere in places
that don't exist
in times that never where
and never would be
there was a love
as only love can be
between the words
of fairies dreaming
and heavens falling
as she reads out loud
the works of Shel Silverstein

He turned the idea over
and then turned it over again
examining it from odd angles
twisting it this way
stretching it that way
and came to the conclusion
that the only way out
the only thing he could do
was to lie

Not a clever lie
nothing that would be believable
no, it had to be
obvious
obnoxious
and obscenely so

He imagined her reading it
and smiling
and laughing
and knowing the truth
he had meant to hide inside of it
but had somehow
accidentally made perfectly clear

She would then
touch his shoulder gently
her smile still warm on her lips
and she would whisper
her own lie into his ear
and her own truth
would playful dance in her eyes

They would sit through
an awkward moment of silence
and then suddenly burst
out into a spontaneous gush
of embarrassing laughter

He would snort
and run out of breath
and she would cover her mouth
trying not to laugh harder
but fail miserably
and fall over laughing louder
and more rabidly than before

The laughter would turn to giggles
then turn to smiles
then turn to shy looks
and then small sighs

This moment would
be stolen by eternity
and crafted into a small jewel
and then broken in half
and then each half
would be embedded
into each of their hearts

He wouldn’t remember
how it had happened
but he would be holding her hand
while all this happened
and she would be looking
at all the past
and pain
and loss
and love
he kept hidden between the colors
and the pupils of his eyes

He would try to look away
try to keep some
of those secrets to himself
but he would be frozen there
trapped by the stopping of time
as helpless as a fresh born infant
and as giddy as a school boys first crush

She would read it all
she would understand it all
she would be grateful
for the intimacy
of knowing these things
and she would treat
this knowledge with grace and respect

The silent moment would return
but the awkwardness would not be there
they would both hear
the cracking of a fireplace
that was not there
but still
somehow warmed the room

A greater truth would be
waiting patiently on her lips
inviting him to taste
its sweetness with his own

They would both lean in
at the same time...

Then

“****!”

she disappeared
and he suddenly remembered
that she wasn’t real
that she didn’t exist
that she was the imagined creation
of his wandering heart
someone for him to write
fictional love poems to
A distraction from any real person
who he might grow affectionate towards

He wrote down the lie
and crossed it out
and then wrote down another lie

He read it
and re-read it
tried to imagine her laughter again
but she didn’t laugh
so he crossed it out
and tried again

Another lie
and then another
scribbled and scratched
typed and edited
rewrote and deleted
then rearranged in his head
and written down one more time

She laughed so hard this time
he was afraid she might be taken away
mistaken for a madwoman
and he almost crossed it out again

But her laughter was perfect
with a pinch of a cackle
a douse of innocence
a shake of honesty
and for good measure

a sprinkle of love

He dotted the “i’s”
and crossed the “‘t’s”
and smiled

It was a good lie
maybe not his best
but his own heart was fooled
and it was happy
and that seemed good enough

He put his pen down
and closed his sketch pad
he stood up and stretched
the smile was still there
and he could still hear her laughter

but in the corner of his lips
there was an almost
unnoticeable sadness
a lingering loneliness

Something he would
never admit to tasting
to knowing was there

He walked into the bathroom
ready to shower away
the aches and pains
of his slowly aging bones

he paused in front
of his reflection in the mirror
and for a brief moment
thought he saw himself
flicker in and out of existence

A brief moment of both
panic and joy swept over him
as he wondered if
he was possibly
the character that didn’t exist

that he was nothing more
than a fevered dream
of a lonely and desperate heart

Wouldn’t that be funny he thought
as he stripped himself bare
and then stepped into the bath
and pulled the curtain close

He laughed a good laugh
an honest laugh
a laugh laced
with the magic of snow
and the innocence of children
and then melted
under the steam and hot water
and slipped down the drain
and was never seen
or heard from again