You and I were the tree and the vine,
I was yours and you were mine.
I often felt that I was the tree,
for all the roots that came under me.
You were the vine, beautiful and light;
I loved you best for never clinging too tight.
You said that all along it was I who clung,
and then and there something died where I hung.
This tree of mine had changed its leaves,
and grown contempt within its eaves.
And I, the vine and parasite
was bid a prompt and cold goodnight.
By the time I fell to the forest floor,
life as I knew it was no more.

The month of December made the
Snow-less mist seem like an
Unexpected, yet pleasant guest. The mist
In October, on the other hand, is a
Shadowy figure who stands under the
Street light in the distance or the
Man hiding in the bushes as you
Unknowingly pass by. I realized that all of
My fears were a product of time and season.
Perspective is everything, whispered the soft mist.

I walked by a house that you and I might have
Shared, but you are long gone and the I who loved
You has ceased to exist. Now it is just I, a single ray of
Light emanating from the silent spaces between the
Thick woodland pines who charge along at my side.
The I with the beard, the broad shoulders and the
Deepened voice. The echo of a childhood lisp still
Resonates behind my teeth.

I thought of the art that was growing between my
Ears and behind my eyes, the masterpiece that no one
Can see because it can't escape the prison bars. An idea
Too large and a facet far too small. The mist encouraged it,
She tried her hardest to coax it from me, to grease the bars
Which held it captive within my skull.

We live in our own world,
A world that is too small
For you to stoop and enter
Even on hands and knees,
The adult subterfuge.
And though you probe and pry
With analytic eye,
And eavesdrop all our talk
With an amused look,
You cannot find the centre
Where we dance, where we play,
Where life is still asleep
Under the closed flower,
Under the smooth shell
Of eggs in the cupped nest
That mock the faded blue
Of your remoter heaven.

Why does this hurt so much
when what I reaped was what I sowed
I feel drained and worthless
I guess yesterday I could have bowed.

I never thought that it would come to this
after all we had to endure
but then I should have known better
when you looked beyond me as if unsure.

You look past me as if I am clear
like there is somebody beyond me
like I'm a pebble among rocks
or the smallest star that can be.

Why do you not notice me?
What do I have to do
to make you realize, to make you see
That I am the only one who's for you.

There is no boon in Spring,
In the way the birds sing,
Or in flowers that bloom.



The season of treason,
And Pregnant affliction
The season of rebirth.



Winter, there’s a beauty,
In weather’s agony,
And all is a ghost white.



Knowing the sun will rise,
Rise over cold demise,
That is total beauty.



Though Baldur sings in spring,
I will hear no such thing,
Instead I’ll watch her rise.



Rise over barren fields
That the cold, white snow yields
Watch and witness beauty.

I found myself alone
in the cold dusk
at the crease between
night and day

Over my shoulder the illusive flesh of light
meagerly permeated through refracting clouds
above an ocean enclosed from my view
by lulling hills and warming homes

My hands finally quiet
my legs began their routine stretch
for the solitary walk to the local cafe
where heat anticipated the arrival
of my cooled skin

It wasn't the element of instant gratification
that spun the anxious gears
mechanizing in my chilled blood
but the thought that

Had I not taken the time to strengthen my relations
with the setting that was to remain my home
for the next few years

I would become just another lapse in time
among the earth's surface

The windows never reflecting my spiritualistic limbs

My home untouched by the graces of fond strangers

The light always before me never behind
in that distant place shielded by panes and lenses
and the hungering sky

So I found myself alone
silently walking along
a dimming sidewalk
to a warmer place
with the diluted light filtering
through refracted clouds
against my back