to abate this sorrow,
this swallowing vacuum succumbed in
a whirlwind of grief,
I stumble to a halt, needing, pleading
limping for a form of inspiration
the thundering bolts which course in my veins,
the sparkling light which shines every morn,
the beautiful way my heart pounds
to the rhythm of my feet,
I grieve over the loss, the startling new reality
so sudden and sharp I almost lost balance,
then had to stop in a cross-section
of cones spilling over pavement
and the magenta sky waning in her descent,
I stop and sit, look and breathe,
and understand that my heart still pounds,
the wind still sings, the light still shines
and my feet will have to rest
why I wait during these days
and cherish the moments
to welcome balance to regain her feet,
like a marvelous, marvelous guest

dark, cured wood
glowing lamp shade*
*mist curling like light

a child, a squinty-eyed youth
huddling in the street corner
searching, looking, at the pieces of silver
scattered, embedded in the dark, dark soil
stubby nose and brunette, crouching
low like a chesapeake blue crab,
shuffling with deft cunningness,
eyes pried for the shards of lost glimpses,
of unforeseen specks wandering lost
in an inconceivable oblivion,
and there the child crouches,
eyes pried and squinted amidst the glaring
brightness projected form
a thousand burning suns,
and here the child sees, touches
the intangible threads emanating
from the fibers of raw imagination
fueling the gaze to peer at the stars, the galaxies
to create a world which surpasses
beyond the dingy pavement at the corner,
embedded with shards of silver

walking, skipping, running
through the fields of golden hay
with sprouting sleeves of green
like green apple and lime,
hiking through the stony terrain
with my cloud of thoughts,
those rainy, rainy clouds of doubt
or thundering tempest pounding away
crackling and careening into a frenzy
blinding like the way
the ice skitters across the cliff sides
and accumulate on my breath,
running, run so the clouds cease to trail
sing, with a spiriting tune
gliding, soaring in the high, high stratosphere
where maybe its notes can beam
under the radiance of the shining sun

nothing like a smile
sun soaked, joy sunken
beaming with you

blue, violet, indigo*
orange, red, summery yellow
black, grey, indifferently still
groaning and crackling
flashing with downpours
why, he said
the sky feels quite tangible
like flickers of emotion
running across canvas
it has a lot of joy and sorrow
*the big, big sky

there was nothing but
the sound of feet
like pat pat pat
pushing against wet sand,
the call across mountain tops,
the trail toppling with raisins and walnuts,
the swish of lungs beating, running
and the way water splashed grandiosely,
or the comforts of a car ride,
blasting radio whilst carving around green hills,
palms raised against the cool wind
and feeling like the flowers and weeds
are sighing in unison,
or the ceasing daylight accompanied with
a hot meal, hot stew and bowls of sticky rice
creamy mashed potatoes and a glass of good wine,
which twinkles whenever the candle is lit
at the rickety table,
a collection of something
chimes call, the belly laughter rolls
and a day of blues and blacks,
where tears run and skies sag in lack
these are all human memories
bittersweet and living indefinitely