a willow
however
stands

shallow waters

pebble stones
scattered

all the words

a cadency
of rusty hinges
hanged doors

sour, the dam

my shadow
unfolded,
captive
of a blind night.

dazed,
straying,
time feeds on days,
unanchored.

blank ink

hiccup

split
        slip
flee

no flight

nor fight

built a dam
****** the flow
to rock me
in a nebula
of aphasia

damask and silk
amniotic velvet
all five senses
spelling your smile
the touch of your voice

Now is
what
never is.
Can't you see it?

Now is just
a suspension,
the bend before
the wave,
not the flow
nor the wave
but
the suspended
breath
of a perpetual
motion.

Winter is here.
Its romantic
******,
frozen death,
nights that linger.
Yet,
arms crying
into windy skies,
trees carry
a pregnancy,
sprouts
like a plague
ripping
every branch.
Oh yes,
spring
is coming.

Now is never.

Quietly,
silently,
let us watch
as time bends,
unfolding
what was
and what
for sure
will be.
Quietly,
silently,
let us ride
that bend
and know
that
never
is now.

for every time
we fail to see
ourselves

and every time
we failed to see
the other selves

for every self paced
story the fool
believes to be true

and for every
thorn we pull
and again hatch

and for this
incompleteness
we drink

into drunkenness
by the fire
of red beard bards

day falling
slightly
scented
moss
and dew

quietness
of a garden
bursting
yellowish brown
a redful will

a bench
on the side

its emptiness
its vacancy

i see it