I once knew a man,
One who played all the instruments,
And sang all the tunes,
And cried with the lullabyes when children bedded down.
And when I last met him,
On Father's High Hill
He told me, "Music is the only language you are born with."

I once knew a lady,
One who met with all the people
And loved with all her heart
And laughed when she saw the children run.
And when we last spoke,
In the summer's suburbs,
She told me, "We live to await the next emotion."

I once knew a couple,
One who lived with all their might,
And climbed every cliff,
And carried all the children in thier shoulders.
And when we last past,
In Leconte's thickened forest,
They told me, "Trying times are not the times to stop trying."

I once knew all of those people
And sang and loved and lived,
And played with my fellow children.
And when I last saw them,
Through the course of my life,
I would reply simply, "That's a truth to live by."

Two siblings walk, hand in hand,
Shoulder to shoulder,
their footsteps paving grass and stone
in wary gilding.
And when other footfalls trace their steps,
the feet will slip,
And the trail will have gone.

The siblings work in synchronization.
Unique independence,
Contrasting, and Dissimilar
both harmonizing in nature;
They tie knots in eyelashes,
Weave fine chain with obsidian,
and break nails with simple deeds.

I, with hands of hardened base,
and fingertips that stroke Saguaro spines-
Will reach for straw figures
with blank, witless features,
And cold tin men,
with ice coated *******-

And a sharp-edged shadow will bark at my heels.

A hole lay, just the size of me,
in the base of a willow tree.
A rabbit hole, no hares to see,
Where hares and rabbits ought to be.

I slip within, the darkness thick,
The floor is hard, the walls are slick.
I'm cramped inside, my breaths are quick,
My teeth make lips too ripped to lick.

I'm drawn in deep, like moth to flame,
I'd never dreamed before I came,
Cautious; things don't stay same,
The giggles shudder in this game.

My company creeps and scurries near,
we fall and crawl in puzzled fear.
There's something else that lingers here.
The bugs and rats have stopped to leer.

Crying! Squeaking! Scurry back!
Stampedes of pests stream, strong and black,
Over, under, they trample a track.
Gone, they go, escape attack.

And when I brace to feel the bite,
I grasp at sudden strands of light,
The night has broken, dawn brings light.
The willow splits to weep, contrite.

I free myself, and give a whoop,
the trail within had made a loop!
And nevermore I dare to snoop,
To peek within the willow's stoop.

There is a stream that drifts below me,
Not lingering, it seeps away.
The water creeps around the rocks
and ebbs with mindful swiftness.

I close my eyes and listen;
Ignore the wind that sticks my skin
And if I hear the brook below,
Then perhaps I will return to you.

I crane for twinkling, water moving,
Hear nothing, not at all.
No whisper of the whipping wind
that dances on the water.

Water flows, as infinitely restrained,
As blood that surges from a wound.
It hurts to see; this hurts to hear;
Just nothing, loud as silence.

Words that warm my heart and soul
Are cut into glass as cold and clear as
the stormy skies.
Sent to me in black and white,
   -emotionless, uninviting.
Yet they heat my frozen limbs,
And send the blood racing to my fingertips;
   -white and cold as snow.
To my face which glows with blushing light,
To my toes which curl in happiness.
A coil restricts my chest, it seems.
And breaths grow shallow and daunted.
My ribs will break, my breath will go,
And I will live vicariously through you;
Your words in cloudy skies and black ink,
   -And cut glass.

Everywhere I walk-everywhere I go;
the titles follow like aftershave.
They're not warm, they're not soft,
They're not enveloping,
They give a bland emotion to their matter.
       This is Big.
       These are People.
       They are Insignificant.
Titles follow everywhere.
like shadows to our frames.