Stop...

And go back, to the moment where time wound forward.
Where fallen leaves return to trees and my broken mind becomes mended.

Go back...

To the days where fear would cower and invincibility possessed the throne of thought
Where youth prevailed.

Rewind...
To the time where the dependence of three legs buckles under the independence of two
Where first words formed replace last words spoken.


Come back...
To the world where leaves have fallen,
Where color has taken its own and has bled into grey.
where youth has betrayed us and old age has greeted.
To the days where the purpose of bone has been replaced by the stability of wood.

The monitor has changed its tempo...
I lay here as breath begins to fade and memories of lost faces gather.
I stop for the last time
To imagine a world where the reality of growing old surrenders to the dream of growing young...

Life is gorgeous but rugged
At mountain tops and valley troughs,
Finely shaded here and there.
At noon, it’s snow and white.
Light green across the veld
Like orange and cream at brunch.
Then pink and peach at lunch,
So grey and off at dusk.

Life is gorgeous but rugged
A valley of medals and “slaps”.
Mended will that fill up bones.
A prop above wrecked bottles.
Then, a skip to prevent a bleed.
Ahead, though troublesome lane
For rewards that’re nearer than far
Thro’ success that’s netted by zeal.

I carry a mask in my purse
for special occasions.
Turns out
wherever there’s people
there:
occasion

sky, a sea;
the sun is a ship sinking
slowly
into slumber  

& i’m a seed
sleeping
on soiled sheets,

sproutless, seeking the solace

of silence,
the nascence
of night—
the delight

in drawing dreams from dust
to dusk into day
into divinity;
in withdrawing

to the wild and wondrous
womb of waking.