I've been wondering where you'll show up

If you surface as a hum in the wind,
faint but reassuring, touching the exposed skin of my face,
your briefness would match ours,
you'd scatter my thoughts,
laughter trickling away from me like the days
that stand between me and the time I touched against slowness
and saw it as something beautiful,
You'd be gone as soon as I saw you
...Just like I'm afraid of

Maybe you'll be a cat, wandering around corners,
wise, mesmerizing eyes
I already feel like there's something you know
and I'm desperately craving it

Perhaps I'll stumble upon you,
in the form of a sprout, reaching into the air from the earth
green and vibrant and alive with a freedom my
chest hasn't felt since your lips left
me breathless

It certainly won't be you as your real human self, though
no tall form will fall out of my dreams and into reality
Much as I've spilt my desires into you (without your knowledge),
built you up into my angel
my fallen-from-the-sky lover
trapped in my never-ending thought bubble,

You won't save me

much as I'm sick of the loneliness

My metaphorical angel,
I'll leave you as a memory
let you gently remind me of soft times
and hope to meet you again one day.

I chose to look closer into him than most do

My discernment found worlds in him that most would not

I clung tightly to pages of mystery bound by him-ness

Grasping at tendrils of smoke and mirrors

Looking between our hands for a hidden universe.

And then

Quite suddenly

I saw him:

Just skin and words and memories

I’d simply been looking through

To find reflections of myself

on edges of swing set of summer of child
I grow -- a rust abloom while ghosts
of women once called "mother" do push
a wind a creak a falling leaf feathering
downward, candied sentiment traveling
forward

for hope for empty swing to fill to turn
the chronometer back to *12 noon, March 6, 1972

Here comes the rain
the weatherman said would come,
and arrived just like a train.
No wait at a platform
or delay for a death,
just precipitation
and a whole lot of wet.
Wet windows and wet grasses,
moist tables left from the summers,
plant pots turned bowls,
to catch the water that floods and falls.
Here comes the rain again,
that the weatherman said would come.

It’s a 5 day world out there,
followed by a 2 day scare
of baths and walks
and holiday forecast talks.

Planning goodbyes before you’ve left and gone
whilst sitting still on Subway platform one,
with stationary thoughts
like the stationary train,
wiped down and dried
by the city state rain.

It’s a 5 day world out there,
followed by a 2 day scare,
together another
7 day affair.

bereft and struck, yet
brief in exile
the gatherers made
a day of the whole affair.

through standing afar
ghastly, conscious,
risen things gawked
as fixed upon; pigeons.

the eat your heart out feeling
swallows the gatherers whole
a breath of an opinion heard;
outspoken.

forget nothing but fallacy!
democracy of the estranged
fluctuating feelings for your
Father Dear.