feel the weight
of its fibers give
under each touch,

the slick sound of canvas
and wood creaking
under each human thought

gaze upon the mark making,
the presence of emotional ailment
of a joy and grief

watch, soak up the arc of the hand
of the eyes whizzing past
bright and intense

the colors overlap,
the hues sing in harmony
or clash in discord

these thoughts careen,
slicing like slick sheets of ice
screeching with a spare of strife,
a wiping gesture and a breath of air
sprays of cold grey
and cascading slivers
of doubt,
of a gnawing sensation
leeching the warmth
from the lining in my stomach
watch the weather pass, the
clouds sailing, unfurling with direction
round and round with the wind
thinking with purple bruising
and shocks of lightning,
I feel the rubber insoles
pounding the pavement,
crunching over gravel,
sinking into dewy grass
my mind unwinds like film
my thoughts fly
would I ever know
where to go

the salty air
choppy, blue-green shore
two figures walking,
swaying, reminiscing*
breathing
*sharing

fear sits in the joints
of these clumsy hands*
like a stagnant pond
half drowned in shadow
which syllables could I string?
what words belong?
oh, how fearful these fingers
uneven nails and all
betray my feelings with
its trembling and nervousness
I fail to commit, to uptake
what they really want to say
and never mind the sound of the words
I'm far from ready to hear their notes
writing out would be the first step
to committing, and oh how I fear
that they would have
*never belonged

perhaps, perhaps*
each smile shining white
shining that wide, kingly grin
knocks down the brick
which preserves the small glade
of sprouts and flowers, of books and runners
perhaps, perhaps
the notes fluttering off the strings
harmonized like early morn~
a dawn of pinks and baby blues
of singing streams and lingering dew
perhaps, perhaps
*I would like that very much

I am a fruit in a basket
a green, swelling fruit
basking in the gold sunlight
on swift, spring mornings
******* in all the water
when the storm showers
claw at the grey skies,
I am an underripe growth of nature
still too bitter for those
who peel at my skin,
I hang in the air, chuckling with the leaves
the great branches sway without sight
I dance long into the night
I am a fruit birthed from a flower
a flower in a past life
bloomed beautifully, magnificently,
yet, my petals fell
and I began to be made
anew, like the pink dawn
before the cusp of day,
I am a green fruit, not quite ripe
I wait, patiently, diligently,
for the day love will embody me
and leave seeds within me
of sweet, sweet melodies