~
Lipstick to void. She is a race against time. The beveled past a disruption in her lines of influence.

Travel is dangerous, and tonight it darkens the highway of blood vessels coursing through her extremities. She wants to be luminous and under the skin.

While Dorothy dreams of tornadoes in Kansas, she dreams of remote climbs in lesser Glasgow, of party drugs in Tokyo. How many lights does she see?

In her hair are sixty circuits. But she waits, religiously inclined on the hotel bed. She drove through ghosts to get here wearing nothing but Las Vegas.

So strange at this hour, in a city full of sleepwalkers for the taking, she now dreams she's a bulldozer, she now dreams she's alone in an empty field.
~

It’s the morning of another day
The woman gets dressed
Having finished her brief breakfast
She is going out

Dressed in her red coat and scarf
Ivory colored turtle neck sweater
Blue jean leggings
It’s winter at the end of January
Very cold outside
It gets into your bones
Makes them ache

She is heading out to the store
Afterwards she will stop for coffee at a favorite cafe
Before heading home

She is living her new life
With her high school sweetheart
An unbelievable dream come true

It is gently snowing. Large size white flakes very slowly. Looking like queen Anne’s lace. As you stand in the forest -- there are no sounds except a few birds in the trees. It is so quiet you can almost hear the snow fall. You are aware of your breathing which slows. You close your eyes to listen to the quiet and feel the stillness. You are one with nature.

Snowflakes gently touch your face but you are not cold. There is total peace.When you open your eyes, you see a doe looking at you. Still, quiet and peaceful. You don’t want to ever leave this moment.

the sound of rain on
a moving train makes me wish
the trip was longer

you're the summer months
I spent in Grandma's house — flowed
infinitely slow

made of soft mornings
humid noons, quiet evenings —
I dream of summer

summer is the call
cicadas hum and chirp to —
I answer, find me

having a blacksmith
for a father always set
the house on fire — some
children get tempered like steel —
some get brittle like charcoal

you, who asked me if
I already brushed my teeth —
I said I'd prove it
when you come closer and taste
the mint from my very tongue

to my summer breeze
heavy rain and quiet night —
lie down next to me