We run through golden drops of sunlight
with reminders tied around our wrists
memories in baskets of woven wind
Tomorrow chases us
as we chase yesterday
The synchronicity of our steps
becomes the rhythm of time
lost in the streets of reality
while navigating maps of wonder
our lives are repelling forces
that now face the immobility
of our desire for freedom
so what's left? Besides you
running toward this morning sky
and me, sinking in a shallow sea
of words and puzzles, that time built for
you and I

Dad, I am going to try and write this
It may be a poem
It may not
But from my heart
I miss you
I remember the last time I kissed you
Your eyes were closed
They opened wide
As I kissed your forehead
In that terrible place
So white and clean
Where people die
But you will never die
Dad
I love you so much
And you will always live on
In my heart
Forever
God, I miss you so much
It's so hard to write through the tears

I fit in my body pretty great,
    but not so much in my brain

the night is silver
air, her dark ink
flowing like a pen, her
aches and sinews, water-
born, melted out of sky.
there is no cage

to hold the bird, page-like,
built out of river and
dream, it is free to fly,
carry the green of
the trickling leaves to the
rain-heavy cloud.

february builds her palaces
of love, a pretty rose,
a sentimental card,
a rain-sweetened kiss.

we are as full of the night
as a poem, our lips glazed
red, our hearts glowing
golden gathering petals
and sky.