I pour myself out
becoming a water to drench this land
and the fields beyond.

My words dig--
tilling the soil, the moments,
uprooting what threatens the growth,
bestowing the change
to the fields beyond.

Autumn will tinge the world
I once viewed as green and new.
But as the green grows
in a familiarity tainted by ennui,
we hold our breath against the cold
promise of harvest
and wish to grow, as well.

October is for waiting.
As a foreigner transplanted in this flatland,
I ponder any small, crucial detail
I've forgotten
and wait for our joy
to grow
gold.

In every realm of myself--
I doubt.
Voice-clouds congregate
And roar in the sky-space
of my mind.

Searing, jagged, electric
My mind’s words cut—
light
but not illumination.
I am,
Myself,
the tempest.

The wind gusts
Unsure of where she belongs.
The sonorous maelstrom
Beats back any of your love-words.
I remain alone
And it is autumn in my mind.

Change storms in
Unforgiving
And unquiet.
I am,
Myself,
The tempest.

What can calm the wind?
Who am I without the wind?
Despite the clouds, I fear drought
I fear wind
I fear drought
I fear
I am,
Myself,
The tempest
I fear

I return, citylost, and in want of stars
once more above the snowfields--

These winter friends repose and revise:
purity upon me, cleansed like the dying grass of the fields.
I return for the moment Time allowed.
Once more, after concrete-touched skies
spread across my many months
away.

You found me folding up the maps
of my past, and dusting off memories.
Taking my hand, we drive past all of the limits,
Memory and wind directing the car--
Everything glides across the frozen plains.

We serenade only ourselves & the wind,
as the earth rests in her shades of black.

The sky drenches me with speckled light,
Generous winter light,
like a gift left-over from Christmas

Once more
To me,
From you.

We unpack our hearts' words, unfolding our souls
We know what we are but not what we may be

We are the falling leaf in autumnal wind
'Tis season's shift that mists a souls' content

We are a glass full, brimming to be poured out,
Fear drives the self toward the drought of selfishness

We are song in crescendo, and silence in farewell
Yet courage oft' comes like a surprise snowfall

We are a wave rising up, only to descend upon the rocks
Bringing bitter remembrances of faded pasts

We exist in a paradox, whose key rests in the palm of Time
*We know what we are, but not what we may be

as the rain soaks all
the earth in spring's travel,
let also thy grace drench
my wandering
soul

Slant-light covered us
and we breathed, imagining the salty air
of a shore nearby.
"It's time to discover
all the things that fill us."

So we sang the secret chord,
about our stolen hope.
Sometimes there is peace in darkness.
We drank in the sunset
and tried to find the Ursa Major
amongst the stars in our eyes.

Now, the birds stretch their wings on the breeze
as I watch puddles form outside my shoddy apartment.
Three seas away, you gauge time by
the waxing moon's light on the cornfields.

The moon can make your eyes burn
from its brightness.
God's Canopy of Grace.
A lot of a good thing often makes you ache
for more.

We examine simplicity,
Utter awe, incurred by a moment:

Driving into the nothingnight
The wind touching everything
Two hands growing old and familiar
Staying warm together
Trying not to destroy the stillness.

Along with fragments of the sky,
     We
            Fall,
                   Golden.

How is it, that the world has not stopped shimmering
since we saw the moon drench the flatland?

Your hand still in my hand
Your eyes blink, often
slowly.
As they close, I yearn for them
to open up to me once more,
and glimmer with the warmth
you've stored away inside your soul
just for me.

Don't look away,
even if it burns.

You speak love into the shadows
Lights, again above our heads.  
I'm always dazzled by light when you're around.
We pray for things like peace,
and discover that God's been giving it, all along.

J. Alfred Prufrock had it wrong:
The universe begs to be disturbed
By love like this.

Letting the wind and moon
and the stillness press upon us.
We are infinite.
And a little dizzy.
Hope expands in our chests
         So many birds scatter the sky.

We are Walton, Nebraska:
A normal surprise,
God's whispered secret about beauty
covered in the moonlight,
heard only by the wind
that pushed us together.