the dead of night
isn’t dead at all
it is a living mystery
born each day
of Mother Dusk

when autumn strikes
the leaves fall and
the trees lose their memories

that is why it’s so easy
for them to blossom
come spring time

they know nothing
of heartbreak

they don’t even remember
their love for Lady Summer,
the one they swore
would never die

darling,
there are winds
and then
there are ghosts
the hard part
is knowing
which is kissing your cheek

there may be
millions of rain drops
but they all come
from the same storm
and the storm always says
the same thing

i’m not telling what though
you’ll have to sit
and listen

this house burned down a
long time ago but the ghosts
are still on fire

if a bird
lands on your shoulder
that means there’s
a song to sing

and if a bird
falls dead at your feet
that means there’s
nowhere to run

and if a bird
flies away
that means you did
the best you could

and if a bird
stays for the winter
that means you’ve
finally found within you
that invincible summer

you know the one

i don’t know anything
about love
i only know
that it’s a four letter
word
with so much potential

love walked on the moon
before any of you
laid your eyes upon it
and love got drunk
on itself
before any of you
took a sip of that wine
and when love finally
makes its way home
it will be before you
but only in order to wait
for your arrival

you sit by
the light of the window
and i see that
there is a light in you
and you look out
at that summer-time view
and i only look at you
because from where i’m standing
and from what i’m seeing
it’s always summer
and nothing else

if you want to slip me
a little something special
for the long ride home
go ahead

whether it’s love
or hate
is entirely up to you

forget about being loved
just shrug off your coat
slip into the fog
and let the wild green things
have you
and let the rainy black nights
drown you
and when you awake
in the morning
let everything that is not you
rise with the morning sun
and leave this world behind

the bottom
of the river
is only
the beginning
and there is
nothing wrong
with drowning

love walks in
sits down at the kitchen table
and vomits up its breakfast

love goes outside
lights a cigarette
and waits for the last star to die

lean down into the garden
lean down with your eyes, hair and breath
lean out and gather
the every which way of life
until you’ve scooped up
every flower bud of this world
and gather it into your arms
into one life
and then lean back
through the window
slink back into the shade
of yourself,
find the sun
and start planting

I may not be your
cup of tea but somebody
poured me, didn't they?

follow
that little red car
it’s going on an adventure
and i want to know where it ends up
and with who
and if there’s more darkness than light
or if it’s all been
one big misunderstanding

if i remember correctly
you picked
the apple first,
and when we entered the house
of the Loved Ones,
it was only then
that you told me
what you’d done
and now i am homeless
and you are still
the one i love

finish that sentence
before you start something new.
and that cup
of tea too—
it’s getting cold
and the wanderers
are growing restless.
they are begging
for something new.
finish
so that we may begin again.

a prayer for the lonely
is lit
and it burns
red hot doves into the sky
who then relay
the message to the
eternal ones
who light a candle in return

lie down gently, softly
beneath a whimpering tree
and let sweet blossom tears
rain down on you
before it’s too late

you are beauty
in a nut shell
finally breaking free
of what it means
to be beautiful

this is the way
the world works:
by threading my arm
through yours
in a floral weave
of madness and grace
and then ripping apart
the light,
sending in the dark,
only to yell surprise!
the light’s been here
this whole time