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Wanderer Mar 4
Had I known your voice would haunt like so many dancing sprites along midsummers plush ridges
I may have said my peace long before you faded over the horizon
Winter was not left with your leaving
Chilled roots perhaps but more late October mysteries I have no answers for
Sending inquiries, soft and translucent
Go unheaded, unwanted, unheard
We were friends once, intertwined with what I thought was a love that had not faltered, just evolved
Months pass with naught left but frosty windows, my face pressed against the glass
Still waiting to see your light weave through the trees towards me once more
Wanderer Jan 27
I dream in drops of April showers
Each note prismed,
                          some soft,
                                             some sharp
Into blossomed bright hued midnight edges

Secret flowers I hold close with asfault heat
Shift souls that once fit into each groove like all wreathed-in-mystery creators
I once dreamed of you in crimson letters
Swamped in mountain kisses, big sky glory
Memory pulls at a few calm whispers but nothing truly there
Just the space between two tangled mouths and thick summer air
Hand to hip you silly sipper
I lick white lightening from the curve of your smile
Change of season saw you slipping
From one gypsy to the next
As roaming hearts are want to do
Maybe that’s why I like it short and sweet
The only way I could get it from you
Wanderer Jan 16
There’s celebrating and then there is full immersion
On this almost crazed day of my qued arrival
I rub feet together as though crickets could sing
A glass raised in cheers to however many years
You won’t get me to confess a single thing
Blowing candles, spread confetti across the 16th of January like a ballroom in spring
You can catch me dancing along witching hours edges
Waiting with sly eyes for glittering presents I know you will bring
Wreathed in smiles echoing thank yous and laughter
Only one year older if these wishes were wings
Wanderer Dec 2018
For solemn hands to hold as I grow frail and old
Wrinkled eyes smiling tiredly back at mine
In their depths I would relive soft tongued mornings
Stormy edges that echoed the heated joining of youth and vigor
I have danced and dallied with the widow maker
With sharp design he’s a real heart breaker
Ticking time tears add salt to each story retold
At my feet to little ears and little eyes that yearn to see
If only for a moment
What it was like to be free
Wanderer Dec 2018
A handful of water thrown like glitter to bead against reflective floors
Mirrors my cage in a hundred different ways
If I look closely enough I can see myself that free, that open
With every breath I taste the sharp tang of memories
That without you will never sit with sugar on my tongue again
Now I’m not blaming you or this wooden heart that bobs aimlessly without direction upon this endless see of caged reflection
Just exercising atrophied muscles with which I learn to stretch, to feel
Without drowning these polished plains I place cold feet on each morning
I am Alice here, skirts twisted above my head to obstruct the view
Although I know I do not wish to see it’s vast edges
Not unless they’ve painted you
Wanderer Dec 2018
I find that quiet place between deep black and soft gray
Just as easy as I always have
My mind wanders
The faint outline of not too far off mountains
Calls to a wild place within the marrow of tired bones
Songs of burnt leaves, bare trees and wet things echo in response
3am cobwebbed by mid-December frost
Reminds me of another place and time
When sand instead of snow stretched out before me
Wanderer Dec 2018
Front porch Tennessee shine drunk
I may be seated but my heart is dancing through silver edges along these smoky hills
Moon reflecting off half jar reflections
Mind is eased by midnight soft lights
Somewhere in here I hear your voice a calling
Long stretches of silence marked by whispers laid low
Now I know I could be just tipsy but tears ***** sharp regardless
Memories of deep summer far off and away
Take my hand now as I blubber about days I said goodbye to
Hair once dark and glossy now in long braids is gray
Them stills is all I have now, my copper and me
Soon I will lay too in these hills of Tennessee
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