You don't know her,
and she doesn't know you,
but she'll smile right back,
In hopes that you smile, too

She's got a heart of gold
But she's blind as a bat

So you want to get to know her?
You want to trace your way
Through the roots beneath her feet
But boy, she grows guarded
She's not just any tree

She's got a heart of gold
But she won't give you that

You don't know her,
don't ask her to stay
You're no different
And she will push you away

She's got a heart of gold
But she's strong as nails

There's no saying how close
She'll decide to pull you in
But don't get comfortable
She will shed you like skin

She's got a heart of gold
But she doesn't need a thing

Don't blame her
She doesn't know what she does
She only sees the aftermath
The bruises and the cuts
She will look at them all wide-eyed
"Who would do such a thing?"
She simply cannot fathom
All the pain her love can bring

She's got a heart of gold
But she's blind as a bat

Too often
I forget,
That when
I trust
Someone,
They don’t
Have to
Do the same
In return.

Trust isn't
A two way
Street.
It’s one way.
And sometimes,
If you’re lucky,
Someone will
Turn down your
One way street
Regardless of the
Precept.

Too often
I forget,
That trust
Isn't something
That will always be
Returned.

Because trust isn't
An obligation
For someone else

It’s an expectation
You already have for them.

i go through this daily plot
waking, working, trudging
first world ease, office walls
wheeled chairs

afternoon run
tupperware lunch
dinner the night before

home again, dinner
dishes again,
play again,
daughter picks up
new phrases, new looks
vegetable strainer toy
"umbrella," she says

i see those eyes, my wife's
and i wonder

what is this place?
these walls, these roads,
those sitka pines and shrinking
glaciers?

how 'm i supposed to be a father
with all these things stretching out
vaster than reason, than comprehension

those talking heads, ranting this or that
liberty's *****, freedom's snatched,
the world warms, the world cools

Filipinos scream in the face  of angry
winds, the prim cut weatherman wildly
gestures at a colorful map, powerful
he says, historic
he says

more dripping mouthes,
government want guns now,
more money to ****** our phones
to send unmanned drones

our president's muhammad,
or jesus, or kenyan, or raciest
a genius or incompetent
everyone knows

just back home
a tiny algae grows and foams
thrashing in the autumn water
brown oxygen choking life
never found on our shores before
kills fish,

i imagine so much more

i hold my daughter in my lap
reading mother goose,
run my hand through her
thin smooth hair,
sometimes afraid
of what she'll see and hear
with her mother's eyes
and her father's ears

Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That's all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.

it's three months later
and the tune of our love
still echoes through the labyrinth
of my prozac-poisoned cerebrum

it's the sound of rainy evenings
in whitewashed suburban neighborhoods
overwhelming me
as it ricochets off the cold stone

it's the ghost of your hand
holding mine so tight
and it feels like home
as I stand here alone

even as the symphony changes key
to red hair and bright blue eyes
the cadence of you
still rings in my mind