Absence makes the heart go insane,
At 3:17 on a Friday morning the darkness smothers me in pain.

I hold heavy thoughts and my mascara stained sheets, 
Endless what ifs and true foolishness meets.

Clutching my head tears blurring the shapes I can see,
I sit up and discover the only person here is me.

It's just me who understands and just me who hears me cry,
This pattern of realisation is to consistent to deny.

When you tell me I'm not alone your words must be false,
You're not the one engulfed in sadness with an Absence in their pulse.

You keep telling me I'm not alone but when I can't hear his breath,
I'm abandoned,forgotten,living in dark loneliness.

She wore weeds in her hair but I know flowers blossom in her heart, A designer of a season catastrophe always waiting for the weather to start.    

She walks like rain and smiles like summer, purity and tragedy desperate to be discovered.    
                                                              
A face as captivating as a crescent moon half foolishly covered by the dark, she has a universe of breezy thoughts compressed into the seeds of her heart.

As the snow descends like the rain and rouged leaves once did, this young girl forgets herself and springs sweet innocence is hid.

A soul so full of kindness one who dreams without a reason, well it turns out this youthful girl was destroyed by the seasons.

My heart of sleeplessness
awakens me foolish
moonless from my rest
ache of cells and blood
a torrent, a flood
a rushing river
reaching for your hand
your reddened lips
soft a place to land

over the past weeks
a gentle autumn sun
has painted colored leaves
upon the ground
and thinned
the bright abundance
of the wooded ranges

most of the harvest
is securely stored by now
or sold at morning markets
by weathered men and women
in country garbs

vintners are busy with their lots
fermenting grapes
and entertaining those
who see their visit
as pleasant pastime and escape
from daily urban chores

hunters and lumbermen
are waking up
to shoot and mark

schools by this time
have settled into the new year
teachers are happy still to share
the knowledge of our world
with students still inclined
to listen

businessmen
remembering their vacations
on the Bahamas or in Saint Tropez
step sprightly into offices
womanned by secretaries dreaming secretly
of beautiful Mallorca summers
and of those never-ending nights
on the Algarve

I guess it is a human thing
to find a new beginning
and do best
when nature’s breath goes easy
to collect the strength
for yet another fruitful year

or were it better
that we also took a rest?

           * *

light
from the lit windows
   of the hurrying train
streams out
and instantly disappears
   into the darkening landscape
   through which I travel

I do now know
   where it goes
   what scene it may
   happen to illuminate

sometimes
when we stop at a station
   pass a town
   or a row of cars
   waiting at the crossing
we are receivers
   of the light of others

so we speed through the world
receiving some
and sending flickers of light
   into space
to unknown destinations

           * *