Maybe the reasons are multitudes of many
Maybe the purpose of this path connecting is far too grand for just one thing
Maybe the worlds apart come close
Wrap in rhyme and swallowed in rhythm
To show this little girl that there is more then this

Maybe

Maybe this intertwined time is to guide the blind and haphazard to really see that which has been right in front of her eyes

Maybe that is what this is all for
You see me in my broken disconnect
Fighting to hide the hurt that lies deep behind my eyes
Passionate disconnect is still disconnected

Piecing back the pieces, with jagged edges and not enough glue
Maybe that's you
The sticky, free-flowing magic that's quickly filling in all the in betweens

The little light leaks that let the great seap
To all the wrong places
What does it feel like to be filled up?
Teach me to top off my overflowing cup

Feed me and my starving mind
Show me that true love is real
Help me explore the rest of this divine
I've waited so long to truly feel
This

My mind is ignited in a new creative flow
Doors blown open to let me
wander, or maybe I'll follow
Where ever you may go

A true love story grander then my imagination could create on my own

Maybe this is what I've been waiting for

I remember when I saw you on top of the hill; hand in your heart, mouth curved into a crescent-shaped smile.
You looked surprisingly placid for a boy whose mind was like an exploding star.

You couldn't have been more than south of fourteen,
and yet you had the imagination like Verne in revolt;
laughs that akin to an uproar industrial machinery;
and nerves of steel.

And together, you and I were like loose cannons of catastrophic ideas and eclectic dream of travelling around the world in eighty days.

You were my best friend; my confidant,
you were the reason why life was like a waltz to me.

But better yet,
you were my safe haven.

You were my home.

Summer morning.
Recrossing the borderline from the afterlife,
the dreamer is expelled from sleep, the dream lost.
I am a dream’s shadow,
heavy with transition, jagged from sleep.
Light gathers me from every room I have ever slept in
onto the shrinking island of the bed.

Someone cues the poetry. Unquiet lines.
The past was worse than you thought,
voices say.  Your life is a weighted skin.
Stop swimming against the tide of loss.
Sink.

Yet gloom is porous.
From the sky’s cracked mosaic,
Daybreak seeps in.
The light reassembles familiar objects,
which replace mere longing in ordinary darkness.

The things of the world resist but return
to radiance, resume the work of existing.
We are all day laborers.
It's my shift. Summon the coffee.
The world yawns before me.
And I am, therefore (I think).

The story began one night in the dark
when most curious minds were asleep.
Sitting silently, only fingers tapping the keys,

“You tempted me like an empty page,” he wrote,
longing for a response of immediacy
that would fill his mind with more words,
the only thing he took comfort in.

She stepped aside from the voices
at her gathering to read his message.
“Emptiness,” she wrote back, “lives in the mind,
the habit of looking for what’s lost.

There is no zero in nature.
Let me tempt you with fullness instead.
Come and see what I see, and share what is there.”

As she sent the message, she swallowed deeply
knowing that what she offered was not quite a lie
but more of an unfulfilled desire.

“I can give you what I never had,” she thought.
Her mind wandered, filling
with all the ways that only emptiness can.

He wasn’t sure what she was offering him.
Whatever it was, he longed for it.
Her words flooded him with a feeling he couldn’t name.
Love? Desire?  Intoxication? Yes.

As the sun rose, he took no notice of fatigue, thirst, hunger.
He forgot the empty days,
the time spent looking in the mirror,
counting the lost years.
He began again to write.