Wisdom whispers
In the aftermath
As calm greets the storm
And anger takes its seat

Wisdom whispers
In the dead of night
As I cross against a flashing light
And moonlight fills my eyes

Wisdom whispers
In the reflection
As time stands still
And my soul begins to speak

Wisdom whispers
In the break of dawn
As rays give birth to awareness
And adversity has lost its place

Sour smell of wood smoke
seaweed flayed and dried
upon the rocks
those huddled stones
prone and obeisant to the grey sea

And there
a star that is settling
into the indifferent waves
leaving us cold and bereft
soon to be entwined
with the night

But do not despair
We will wake with the dawn
bring the candle of hope
in our hands
and much peace

A solemn and ocean-deep peace
shared
with every sentient being
in time
and every being departed
from time

The moon has its quarters
the sun its seasons
I have only this tenuous grasp
on life
a primal sense of loss and love
and the dull roar of the Pacific
in my ear

I'm wrapped in this eternity,
its suffocating grip
break my breaths
into splinters I can't fix.
I'm worn out
and my unbound edges
are starting to dissolve in this chasm.
One day, it'll become me
and I'll become it.
Then they'll know
that my depth
was never fathomable.
This unknown ocean is my home.
If they asked,
I'll tell them that 1997's
summer seemed like
streetlights casting
orange glow over deserted roads.
I'm an infinite distance
drenched between
my broken dream
and a reality so real,
it shook my being.
I'm this flash of light,
almost resonant,
almost imperishable.
Almost.
My unbound edges
have dissolved into this chasm.
If I could reach out now,
I could touch
that little diminished glow
my dream used to be.
I've fallen out of faith,
fallen out of fear,
fallen out of dread.
I'm this numb throbbing
left behind by the bitter tint
of their crude remarks
That I haven't learned to forget.
I'm a being of ashes piled high,
desperate to touch the sun
though it burned me so much,
That I've become nothing
but a screaming grey,
That they call thunderstorm.
I'm like water splashing,
through broken water pipes
with rusty veins
and faded sunsets
and dark dawns,
fissured with almost inexistent clouds.
They know now though,
I'm faded.
They still don't know,
I'm a bottomless void.

You can't find relief...
In reasons non existent;
In predicaments ill-explained.

There's no relief.
In trying to peer over towering walls.
With feet on tiptoes,
and necks sorely craned.

Relief isn't found...
In wishing upon droplets
that explode as they meet the ground.
Everytime it thundered,
and then rained.

Relief is in the trove
when the heart lets go.
To acknowledge the error,
to move on...
And commit fully to the lesson gained.

it caught the corner
             of my eye

Pavlovian neck twist
jarring synapsis
                  tears followed

was it a ghost
or flickering dust particulate
                   sent me
                             crashing into your picture

sitting crisscross
considering memory’s place
longing to touch your finger
              

                               soft sunlight played
                               dog dander and field burn
                               swirled in the long evening

the radio crackled
long forgotten songs
        played on vinyl

once again they fell
    
                  Is today your birthday?
                  Anniversary?

numbers blur
last year’s calendar
still hangs
         rectangle wall stain

emotions wipe away
mental images persist
a face through the years

               suddenly I stand alone /

Upon a cold
winter's night, on
the snowy path they
wandered.
Deep in the forbidden forest.
The wise old owl that lived
in the tall oak was watching
as he sat on a branch.
Old pine,remain hollow.
He hooted to the
indifferent wind: Who?Who?
But it did not reply,
only whistling was heard
while the pinecones shivered.
The first was dressed in silver,
and her sister dressed in gold.
He stared into the moon,
seeking the truth.
So he discovered the stars
twinkling down upon them,
through the pine needles.
Brown wings of once lost light,
wisdom spoken by the night's silence.
And into the darkness they went,
The wise and the beautiful...

Shivers on skin— I walked among stars;
I walked on broken edges
I walked on broken light.

The sound of space is the mourning of a mother,
a lullaby of the past,
of all the pain it takes to become
on someone else’s demand,
and all the time it takes to disappear
by your own accord.

The night smells of burnt ash;
there are no falling wishes here,
only wicked angels.

Come, let us sleep.
It does not do to step on the dead.