Snuck in like fog and enveloped me in slumber
Tainting my dreams with every breath
Losing myself as I exhale
Filling me with the truth of desire
Pulling me deeper into the beautiful nightmare-
Turned hopeful longing
For to become a part of you as you breathe me in
Is all that there is

Endless insomnia
Rest ran off by a fantasy
Fast-footed memories cannot be reigned in
What is done cannot be undone
What you want is what you need
Visceral reaction to the very idea
Thoughts will not settle
There is no calm ocean
Only the tempestuous remains
Caught on the top of the slide
Too high to see the bottom
Too scared to take the plunge
Too happy to have made it that far
Left to hang in midair
The ride is to be continued
But the fall remains ...tonight

Traces of you line every moment silver,
     even in my darkest day
Traces of you can make the empty linger,
     the second you walk away

Traces of you are my hidden treasure,
     a joy that is all my own
Traces of you are too fine to measure,
     yet brighten my darkness alone

Traces of you make life worth living,
     the birth of my very smile
Traces of you make ease of forgiving,  
     though memories tend to beguile

Traces of you turn hell into glory,  
     then turn back the other way
Traces of you rewrite the story,
     every second of every day

Left
in the lurch

Time
       flies
Bye
Free for
the taking
But
Words fail
of their own account
To redeem
   Themselves
       In the
Wake
Of their
binding reality

In a distant universe
In a distant galaxy
Around a distant star
On a distant planet
In a distant house
With a distant mind

Someone feels the same as me.

Silence is the memories of late night truck stops
Some sticky September serenades of noise
And just legal cleavage
The dawn rises too early
With the whipping snap of a bitter wind
Romancing the trees, grass, and man-made nightmares
Of construction, pavement, and steel
We are alone here some voice echoes
Reassuring that no one will ever be with anyone
And the dying days of our light is just that
Left hanging in the whimpering breeze

*Traveling to foreign shores with seaside shanties
Of mermaids, sirens, and demons of the depth
One day we will rest in Davey Jones’ locker
Telling stories of our youth to rusted seashells
Waiting for a sun to rise beneath the trenches of dead whales

In somber autumn dreams
we watch as clocks melt,
time the illusion once felt
on a creaking porch swing
one summer somewhere

when fireflies held in our hands
transcended brilliance of stars
because we sat there together
hiding smiles in the dark,
believing there was forever

No need to say a word,
it's morning in the country,
leave the chirping for the birds.

Lay your precious head,
against my caring arm,
be silent now instead,
let me keep you safe from harm.

Each day I get to hear you,
speaking merrily to me,
I treasure all you say and do,
that lends a tender mystery.

So, take your words and tuck them,
deep inside your caring heart,
your eyes say everything they can,
and that's a wonderful way to start.

Farewell, Santiago


The waves chortle in ripples; his boat
corks from side to side, slapping the surface
with a bone-bow and starving fingertips:
both have lost their names.  But he
gurgle-speaks to the gull and whispers
ancient lore along the foam-crackled crest.
He’s hooded and hunched,
an old scalawag that never found home
anywhere that didn’t drift like him.
Sand doesn’t speak his language anymore.

But the interwoven arms of corals
can tell stories by the North Star,
times when he was agile and supple;
knee-deep in seaweed and the salt-burbled edge.
The night he slit his palm with a pocket knife
and offered life bounty to the tides
in brotherhood; one drop in,
many drops out over the years

and frayed nets, unfurled ropes.
The redemption of hope glistened in cobalt scales
and weighed at market like poison vials,
polluted inky clouds tarnishing
every coin—hardly worth the bloodletting.
Not anymore.
Dusk fans out orchid and orange blaze;
he yawns a welcome to the mako at last.

I spy,
the morning mist, outside
the window that is not mine,
rising from the river,
sunshine tries to sneak through a sliver,
I, with thoughts only
here and now
for thee,
you
my new and gentle mystery,
who came to me on a silver stream,
made subject for my pen,
my dreams,
and this misty morning,
where I wish to be,
across from you
smiling back at me.

the hardest part about
writing a poem about you
is that the words tend to
get into the way
of what i really want to
say to
you

When the first sweet scent of summertime,
sifted through the sea-salt scented air,
so many things and everything
were bright, light and happy-go-fair,
the Summer Life with you was finally here.

As soon as our bare feet hit the wood bridge,
running from the road up over the dunes,
great grey seagulls squawked, dove and swoon,
we held hands together, one and one
made two,
dash-dancing across the shiny sand with you,
dressed and undressed in our Summer Life moods.

Colours like pinwheels spun like yarn,
flashed and clashed bright orange to blue,
you danced and giggled like a loon,
pulled me up and so close, so close
to you,
that I had to dance, I had to dance like a loon,
I just had to laugh and dance and laugh along with you.

How we played, we frolicked beneath the beachy sun,
belly-surfed upon the waves just for funny fun,
flicked flecks of sand from our sticky picnic lunch,
shared swigs from a big blue thermos jug
of fruity-fruit yummy punch,
sharing and caring beneath the Summer Life's sun.

By evening-tide the air grew cool,
you called me 'lover,' I called you 'fool'
-with a big ol' blanket draped over our shoulders,
we kissed and cuddled, growing much bolder,
falling flat back
upon the mighty mattress of sand,
feeling the mists of the waves licking our hands,
as the Man-In-The-Moon arose and shone,
to dance and laugh with us on the Summer Life's throne.