Hang one word gentle as air in the midst of the storm
- let it thunder with your heartbeats
and let it be a cry for love to prevail.

Statue in the wind.
Refined liquified fossil
from tanks below.
Stoplight foresight.
Epistemology,
'knowledge' is vanity.

Furnace's warmth,
Creator's compassion.
Wife folding clothes.

Binary buzzes
invisibly through
the air.
High-definition
image on the
television panel.

Friends preparing dinner,
awaiting, in faith,
to enjoy company.

While you're away,
my thoughts wander
nomadically through
a sleepless desert.
I wonder if you're awake,
reaching to your left
as I reach to my right,
whispering, 'I love you,'
like I whisper
to the silence.

How can I sleep without
the soft cadence of
your breaths
singing me a lullaby?
Without the heat
of your body
reminding me
you're at my side?
Without your gentle
tossing and turning
to spur my imagination
and wonderment
at what could be alive
in your beautiful mind?

I've become an insomniac
wishing you were here,
wishing I could hold you again,
wishing you weren't
hundreds of miles away.
Rest only comes
when I cling to the hope
of your return.

I'm sitting in the corner
of a cold, empty house.
My eyes glazed over,
I haven't slept.
Memories of Thanksgiving
flash upon the spoon
flipped over before me;
the plaid shirt
I was wearing,
the crummy salad I ate.
I see the look
in your eyes,
you were holding
back tears.
I couldn't contain mine.
Suddenly, flashbacks
of white powder
caked like snow upon
the jail cell bars.
I'm sitting in the corner
of a cold, empty house.
My eyes glazed over,
I haven't slept.

Write the good,
as well as the bad,
on the same page.
Both are equally
important
to the story.

I love the peaceful,
undisturbed snow
that lays upon
my frozen lawn.
I love the way
the icicle water
drips upon
the ground.
I'm thankful for
my landlord who
came to plow the snow.
I savor the silence
resting in the trees,
and the sound of sirens
in the city below.
I'm learning how
to love the season
in which I once felt
forsaken;
I'm teaching myself
to enjoy
all the things
that I once hated.  
I hope this year
I can find
joy within the freezing,
and feel the warmth
of God above,
and love of
life so pleasing.

Hear the following prayer
in the timbre of gratitude:

I've had enough with all the bags
in which I carry my things,
with bright screens that sting my eyes,
and with the musical strings.

My ears are sore from the machines
that change and amplify the waves;
so bring me the thoughts of poets and
bring me the prayers of saints.

Whisper the wisdom of years gone by,
of life spilled out in the streets.
My heart is weary, the weight of this world
has brought me to my knees.

There's only one thing I ask
for which to dull the pain;
bring me the thoughts of poets and
bring me the prayers of the saints.

I sit here
counting windows;
six, twelve, eighteen,
et cetera.

How much money
could the contractor
have saved
without them?
Easily thousands,
but would it be worth
blotting out the sun?
Workers shivering
at their desks,
wishing for
brighter lives.
Clients choosing
the competitor,
who's employees
shine a little brighter.
The windowless building
closing its doors
because they couldn't
afford the bills,
all because
they saved some
money on the windows.

I sit here
counting windows;
six, twelve, eighteen,
et cetera.