Should we land on the same branch,
turn and caw my way.
I'll acknowledge our comradery
before you leave to chase the day.
I'll be the music of the birds,
a hidden meter lacking rhyme,
as you play the midnight raven
wheeling circles in the sky.
In the quiet of the evening
when all is calming down,
you be the great-horned owl.
I'll be the absence of your sound.

I'm a fool for loving you.
Being a fool is what I do.

I lace my indiscretion
with echoes of "it's fine,"
and blame dissatisfaction
on factors that aren't mine.

I make up crazy fantasy
from the comforts of my head,
and think I know my destiny
while lying in bed.

I'm a fool for loving you.
Loving everything I see you do.

Your grace is pure perfection,
a paradise in time,
and your innocent discretion
is utterly divine.

You're walking on the air.
You're skipping off your feet.
Your words gift easy care
to the strangers that you greet.

I'm a fool for loving you.
Because I don't want to intrude

and turn your fair complexion
to torrents of sunshine
or forge a new connection
with the shackles of time.

I've got no way to hold you.
I don't want to trap you near.
There's no need for you to follow.
I'm only standing here.

I'm a fool for loving you.
Being a fool is what I do.

Violet, blue, and white
spiraling from your brow.
Cascades of liquid light
permeating here and now.

Your name! Your name!
Exalted mantra on my lips.
Your name! Your name!
Elegant lightning to my fingertips.

My heart recklessly accelerates
through sorrow's frozen wall,
and I would like to celebrate --
we've no time to stutter or stall!

I was on the hilltop, glancing;
I fell when you gave your shove.
It's alright, 'cause now I'm dancing.
Dancing in the clear light of love.

Don't fill it to the top.
Don't let it overflow.
Leave some space to stop
and a little room to grow.

She asked me if I knew your name --
I think it every day.
At night it comes to speak to me
and echoes through my dream.

I've seen the sun set seven summers
in the indigo of night.
I've known the moon to whisper secrets
given enough time.

And I've been made to see
that it could just be me
giving too much time to fantasy,
hung up on make-believe.

I created this feeling,
synthesized it from the depths.
Now my ego's been sent reeling
while my soul's eternal slept.

From extreme-isms oscillations,
first conditional love then none,
this pervasive vacillation
makes me feel I've come undone.

Can I balance give and take
with trepidation's breath?
Would it still be as fake
as giving up what's left?

Idealization's paved the road
from a half-remembered morn.
It's *******'s been the mode
and my soul's what's been torn.

I can't decide which choice to choose
to free me from all of this.
I could set the Furies loose,
if only I knew that help exists.

My problems have grown too massive,
so much larger than my strength.
Perhaps my approach's been too passive
and too drawn out in its length.

I'll try to align my focus, will, and intention,
but my authority is lacking.
My creative mind has no invention,
and of myself I give no backing.

Once my decision has been made,
I'll go forward or be drawn.
Progress's steps will never fade
so let's get on with it, or get it on.

I'll surrender to the task at hand,
bearing knowledge and responsibility.
Cast towards me all reprimand
which I'll greet without hostility.

I'll search out far and wide
for a consistent love's stability.
I'll find it wherever it may hide,
and nurture to the best of my ability.

In that first moment
I knew something was different.
Maybe I was high,
but as I passed by
I noticed how her eyes
wrapped 'round the other side,
and her face gently curved
beyond what I observed.
As I wandered through the store,
I forgot what I came in for.
What I had seen
I couldn't believe:
is this what they mean
when they say "beauty?"
I noticed the ring on her finger,
the piercing in her nostril,
the color of her eyes,
her lips,
her smile,
the sound of her voice
as she bid me good day.

The next day I returned.
The automatic door opened,  
she turned
studied my face.
A smile, then back to work.

"I like your shirt. Are you from Philadelphia?" She asked,
referencing the Philadelphia Folk Festival shirt.
"No, thankfully."

Should I have told my experience of Philadelphia?
Of psychosis bordering on dementia,
of raw confusion and terror,
of stupid decisions compounded with error,
of hopes and expectations,
of my inability to maintain relations?

"Seems like a fun event to see."
"Yeah, it was wild."
"Did you travel all the way out there just for it?"
"No, I worked production."
"Oh, how cool! Would you like a receipt."
"No."
"Have a good day."
"You too."

The next morning I needed coffee,
and a few things for lunch,
and a way to strain
the massage oil I was infusing.
Again, as the automatic door
parted she greeted me as before.
A moment of careful study
before eyes a-flash with recognition
and a warm smile I did my best to return.
I grabbed my things and came to the aisle.
There they stood chatting.
I heard snippets of words,
but I'm not one to intrude
"Sorry for the real talk" she said.
"That's the only way to talk." I nodded my head

I didn't say how my past few weeks
contained realer words than I heard them speak,
how I had to navigate the alleys
of bickering and emotional valleys,
of overdoses and institutionalizations,
of kidney failures and hospitalizations.

"So what are you making...?" she trailed on.
"Oh, pasta or something." My response.
"Pasta and...jelly?" She asked pointing to the cloth
so aptly labelled jelly cloth.
"Nah, man, I've got to filter the coconut oil.
I infused some herbs into the oil.
Now I have to get them out."
"That makes sense. I remember you buying the oil.
Isn't coconut oil amazing?"
"It truly is a miracle."
I can't place the look in her eye.
Do I remind her of another guy?

And while I'd like to get to know her
I've learned to be cautious with a stranger.
'Cause you never really know
from where they're coming
or where they'd like to go.
Maybe I'll head back tomorrow,
buying bread or lord only knows,
but I've been strung along,
strung out,
hung up
to dry
too many times
to have the audacity
to try.