I want to cry
And fall apart
But I must be a brave soldier
And silence my heart

My brain is the gun.
My thoughts the bullets.
My hand is the trigger.
Society's hateful words pull it.

To be alone is not so tragic,
to be alone, and yet at peace is magic
but oh to be alone with you
That my love is magic meant for two,
For in this life are many troubles,
we both have more than just a few
but when I see the love that lies behind your eyes
My troubles fade from view
And my world is born anew.

I want to do something with the wind.
Make it into something my rib cage can sing.
I want to go where it goes
all at once all the trees bowing
not to me but to he who passes through me.

I created a joy stronger
than the sway of happy and sad.
I saw the moon part the trees,
then sit in their leaves,
then sink
              lost in their past.

The wind blew all night.
Still the mountain stands.

The wind blows yellow
the wind blows blue green
the wind blows night
back into day.

The wind is a thought
thought long ago
that caught on like wild fire
and still thinks it blows.

I say the wind but I mean something else.
I may mean your hair, how the grasses
draw inspiration from it for flowers.
All these things are arranged as the wind leaves them.
No matter the order we take them they lead us back around.

Think of a word
         then just a letter
                      then let the letter
          be just an outline
with more space
          inside it than out.
Then let the wind
         come and rearrange
                      the emptiness without
         with the emptiness within.
This is where we begin.

it's pouring rain outside and I'll I can think about is you

how if you were here

I would kiss you out there

in the pouring rain

until it stopped

My tears fall like leaves  .  .  .
In windy autumn she left—
  .  .  .  Old oaks cry with me.