Did you ever dream of trees
Of living in the mountain breeze
To cling to faces made of rock
To float beyond your cabin's dock.
Have you dreamt of flying high?
To wave goodbye and search the sky
To meld with rock and sand and soil
To wrap with oak roots tangle and toil
Have you ever been like me,
And wish to roam the great blue sea
Or look a lion in the eye
To feel it live, to feel  it die
For if you know, for if you've tried
Then nothing makes you run, you hide
But if you still live in fear
Then you don't deserve those dreams my dear.

I stepped upon a dream
One day
My darling love and me.
It brought about
A kiss without
The weight of modesty.

Music wafted
Through the glass
And it's beauty beckoned me.
His voice rang high
To where I lie
Upon the balconey.

He sang with
Golden radiance
In the grass below,
A bird joined in,
Sang with her kin
Her breast as white as snow.

The song she sang
Was charming,
Full of subtle simplicity.
The love was there,
But none compare
To the song he sang for me.

Rejoice, rejoice
Sing once, sing twice.
Let's gather here.
Bring your brothers
Bring your sisters,
We'll make music
Under the setting sun.
Red dirt, underfoot
All of you, and me
We'll make a memory.
We'll touch the sky,
My friends
And make harmony
And dream of Peace.

It took a while for it to sink in.
The cold truth, that should have dripped onto my face
like an early spring rain, toppled me,
wave after heavy wave,
with the solid wall of a tsunami
that knows no bounds. And when I wake, on the
beach after the storm, I lay among the
debris of everything I had,
everything I built.
Gone.
Well, not really gone.
Ruins of magnificent structures,
things that were nothing but pieces until construction.
It all began to crumble. Now,
the skeletons sit on their graves, staring
me down with soulless passion
while I begin to shiver.

It's like the saying "You don't know what you have,
until it's gone."
When you have absolutely no idea
how very lucky  you are until the
moment after it's all ripped away from
you. Yes, a moment after, because you
have to process slowly what just happened.
A delayed reaction.
Sometimes, depending on how numb you are
to the world that encases  you, it can
be the moment after. Or, if you are
completely oblivious to how lucky
you had it, you could die without a
complete realization.

I knew what I had.
I knew I was lucky.
I just never thought:
It would be me that made it crumble,
I was a malfunction--
Self-destruct too early.
They say you can rebuilt what you've lost,
That these skeletons that watch me can be revived.
But how can you stop a clock that's still ticking?
How can you make it go backwards,
When the hands swirl around, marching in an
Ever vigilant pattern unable to go anywhere but forward?
But I guess that's the point.
You can't change what's been done,
You can't bring back what's dead.
Because, in truth,
It's Gone.

I am as the ocean,
I am a wave of many things,
On the surface I am a plain blue desert,
endless and unchanging.
I am as the ocean,
on my coasts, come tidal waves,
however, on my shores the emotions
break into a million, foamy things.
One may step into my waters,
But will never know my depth.
                            For I am as the ocean.
                            I am a wave of many things.

Behind my eyes, colors flash
And you and I my sister dash
Across a field of stinging bees
We run beyond the frozen seas
With thoughts of sun and mossy roots
We sing  and laugh with phony coots
And by no rules, do we abide,
for in this world
we’re side by side.
And I without you, could not see
the sister you will always be
For you have been so good to me.

I looked up at the soft blue sky, eyes wide with wonder.
Above me, a bird cries for a fallen child; I shiver at her sad song.
A pedestrian gave me a daring pat, it was obvious I didn’t belong.
The world surrounding was mysterious, all emotions were quite mild.
No depth were in these people, no soul; no light.
No life was in their eyes; no being contained the sense of sight.
I searched for one alike myself, but all their stares were blank. In my loneliness, I remained; and let out  a soulful cry.

I can't write about miles of sown fields
or the absence of rain
or silver minnows in a cold creek

without also imagining
how the sky would look from underneath you.

I can't write about sugaring season
or my grandmother's barn on a foggy morning
or the thrum of an August day

without also imagining
kissing each one of your berry-stained fingers.