moonlight dances
across the pavement.
birds flying in
great sweeping dives,
the night air is harsh against my skin.
I am bare.
the old wheel underneath the
deck is rusting,
a *****, rotting red that seeps into
the dirt below it.
undeterred, the faded yellow
glow of the streetlights
washes the neighbor's flowers
in a pale blanket.
and then I am running.
running, thrashing, hurtling,
against the black backdrop.
my heart growing trees.
my heart a weeping willow.
****** cuts cover my feet,
infected by the mud splattered
against my flushed skin.
it's wild,
this chase.

'her' as whispered praxis:

her
stormy
hair

her
highland
shoulders

brush me in
wind.

should that i—
fall from being nowhere

and time: so restless
to leave your purple
and blue, spattering,

echoing spring
rain.

3:30 on the train—
it seems so dark these days:

these days
when grass withers
on my footsteps, when thoughts
of you—you, the flame of my lighthouse,
the sail of my ocean—drift and
hang, warily, in the murky air.

3:30 on the train—
another day, rustling through the
dark, without you.

i took a solemn, slow walk down the
sidewalk in front of your apartment
and i saw her,

intimidating at first but beautiful
in black lace,
Death,

sitting in a bookstore skimming through a book about Life,
oh they were an inseparable pair but
oh she was magnificent

but after contemplating for some time
i realized that in order
to be truly happy,

i must meet her.

i don't
know you anymore; i

i am

pink sky,
     red-tipped flames
i cut the forest in
you.

how do you
fade? doves
sink into a red sun

pale,
aberrant in a sky of
memory.

i can't recreate the
memories of
you, crumbling

into dust, falling
into open spaces: we stumbled
from

oblivion to
your heart.

swallows fly in
fractured patterns: i stared
at the canopy

i bellowed your name
and sobbed; my dog
licked my face

faraway: i know your voice
rumbles with music.

i think you ride
on the wind:

colour the dark
climb the edge of the sun.

i left the window open
     for you.