A fairy brushed past me
Her wings like a delicate veil
Leaving a perfume that is everlasting
leaving happiness but no trail
I had my head in the clouds
in a misty peculiar sort of way.
Thinking and putting thoughts together
to keep me happy for the rest of the day.
My head, full of these thoughts
fifty thousand miles high I imagine
aboard my pretend private jet
of which I am the supreme captain.
I travel in all directions at the drop of a hat
all I have to do is close my eyes
climb aboard and I am away where ever I like
It is my world, my dream and my surprise.
The experience can last for hours if I so desire
or just a couple of minutes if I am pushed for time.
They are my clouds I head for, my bit of sky
and it s all over when the kitchen clock begins to chime.
So I walk in the clouds most every day.
Join me if you would like, no air fare, no tax, no ticket
Just takes however long you have got, for days if you wish
or you can travel to your world in just one minute.

In spring, green along the river
amid ancestral foothills, we walk deer trails
wild in the woods of scented pine
of silver sycamores, silken barked
stark, they pale against bluest skies
their new leaves green and glistening
we are listening for songbirds, for a language without words
transfixed, through this portal, reborn in this world
warm winds speak sweet and susurrus of spring
melodious they sing, leaving far behind
the cold, the dead of winter.

With you, my heart is quiet here,
And all my thoughts are cool as rain.
I sit and let the shifting year
Go by before the windowpane,
And reach my hand to yours, my dear . . .
I wonder what it's like in Spain.

As dark and dreary
it stands alone at night -
hoping for solace.

Hello, my friend
A friend who decides
To stay with me till the very end
I would like you to meet her
but, she crawls beneath my skin
And lives in the crevices of my mind

It's been awhile
Since I've seen you
you left me alone for a few months
but I wasn't lonely
I didn't expect you to visit me again
you must have missed me
my good old friend, depression

-Kaya

As days knock upon April's door,

Soon March, my friend, will be no more,

We cannot stop the shifting sands,

As time we cannot so command.

The table is empty, the chairs are gone,
But I don't have the heart to see it end
I guess I'll have to mask my tears and pretend.