The
        haunting
                         distinction
                                             between
*What
            is
                and
                       what
                                 has
                                       passed

The sadness in my eyes
Can you see it?
It hides behind the laugh lines
Worn in by days of old.
It cowers under the smile crinkles
That have been etched so fine.
I do have that mischievous grin,
That twinkle that reflects the brightness without,
But when the lights go down,
And the evening wears on,
The sadness in my eyes,
Can you see it?

There is a room of everything I wish I’d said.
It tastes of everything that’s empty.
I brush until my mouth bleeds.
Do not touch me with your forgiving eyes,
I do not deserve to be whole.
There is an ocean full of light here somewhere,
I heard it.
It’s a shame I cannot swim,
there is so much I can’t lose.
You said you’d be here.
You said you’d be here.
Maybe one day.
One day it will exist.
The place where we remember.
Where everything remembers.
But it has been quiet lately.
I am everywhere but here.

There is a room of everything you wish you’d said.
It tastes of everything that’s empty.
I stay until my mouth bleeds.

He was so busy painting the sun,
all in yellows and blues
that he forgot that the green
dripped from his brush
and fell upon the round
and blades where fashioned
swaying upon a ground...
and saw
that it was good.

I am as young as the hillside
old as a neonate
I am the miles and trials
between our distant smiles,
We will celebrate forever
we were made to believe
the gift of today is not
tomorrow; it is now.
This treasured  gift
is not a destination;
it is a journey
in seconds,
between this one and next.
We are the breathing
monument
of one life's span
in secondhand
experiences
lived within
a blink
of the
eye.

I watched the paper
soak up the ink
as it blotched
breast strokes
across the page...
suddenly,
street bound
jazz hounds
legs,
pinioned
to pavement,
hand signals
of  July scroll by,
a memory strolls
in reverse as a
name  scrawled contra
across  wheat covered
hills...returned to me
chaotic,
lovely.

A single day
took it's light
from the crayon
colored buildings
laughter ran out
from a beautiful city
where the seagulls  
brushed it's wings
against my cheek
like lovers once
embraced
arm in arm,
long before
infancy.

A memory plucked
from the eye of
golden Roses
littering the street
in irradiant petals
like pieces
of shattered
poetry
in the blood
of a waxing
poet.