It has always been me and you and the tide,
All my thoughts and truths to hide;

tugged between the line that divides,
the sad still and the forever mad;

This moment I decide,
weather to be the wave or the sand;

As the vast sky sang its sleeping lullabies,
I woke up with million hanging eyes;

I watched them beckon me to their foreign land
So I left thorny black roses behind,
their dark secrets poisonous to my gentle heart;

I once exposed my hells and heavens,
the one I shared with my only treasure;

I exposed them to various unsuitable figures,
and never had I felt more unsettled,

And so I swore,
to vigorously guard what I preciously bore,
and only reveal it to my other soul;

So, dear pure soul,
sing for me,
cry for me,
laugh for me,
dance for me,
rage for me,
and pull me to your white world;

Rain down on me, your sparkling white roses,
let me swim between its endless soft petals,
intoxicate me with the scent of it all,
spin me around until I become whole under its cover;

And I shall eternally remain, regardless of sand or wave,  
a single black rose, in the field of all your white roses

Sadness pulls me back.     Still, I must press on.
I am in two minds      as if they are one.

Did you see them take the green fields
one by one, now line by line on hills in echelon?

Still, holding ground held holy by their sons;
no longer marching to the smoke and drum.

Where bugler called the day to final rest,
now silence grows like lichen on the stones.

For those who gave their all at our behest,
our memories alone will not atone.

Do you see the fires burning at a distance,
and more hallowed ground broken day by day?

Each new stone laid a fading reminiscence;
each new boquet soon fading into gray.

What better way to honor sacrifice
than to pause and speak their names aloud.

Until the gods of war are pacified;
until our flag no longer serves as shroud.

There should be wings of a hundred birds
to churn this scorch with breeze
to dry sweat
shade glare
to soothe the ache
of a post-noon day

There should be varied
and a thousand greens
with all betweens
of innumerable trees
till the blue of sky
blends their deference

And the river heaves its way along
ever on
eternal mission of earth
and...

...Heaven-- sure misses so much some days

Cool remote
Transcended as it be
Replete with rains
and relief of clouds
The Angelus in the distance....
with its affluent affinity for air

Revelers leave their party debris
for those making sure
not a sign is left....
We sort and fold, collapse and pack

Somehow between chairs, tables
cans and bottles, assorted trash

They come--

crouch on the levee
wander and stare
aimless amid tall dry weeds
Inhabit a bench, a moment--
Wild
filtering through our fabrication
Wind to dissipate our purpose
Trees invading abandoned fields

“The poor you have with you always”

“I'm not drunk,”
she drunkenly proclaims
to no one
except maybe….

Leaning over her opened beer
seated on bench adorably painted
with joyful hands

Who fondly held or hoped for her?
Before....
days of dirt troweled a shadow
in the sweat between her *******
Filthy tank that barely covers
derelict denial

How they find themselves established
as we make to leave
WE, of our homes and cars and jobs
and plans of escape

They--

of always