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

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

I stood in awe
in the most perplexing
silence which was not quite
like the trickle of water
but of a stunned recognition
of crackling thunder, of
electrifying energy rolling,
writhing like a bonfire
I stood, my chest thumping
like something of numbing euphoria*
as the dancing, dancing man
with passion blanketing him
and music pouring from his creation
forged a union, a marriage
between the living thing
of man and music
and I was nothing more
than an earth-shakened leaf
taken by a singing light
*dappling the sweet forest floor

the custard glow of lamplight
cup of cinnamon coffee
a life bind in pages

one morning the evening star
wished, wished with all
the ache in her heart
that she could run, run away
so far, far into another art of
a different throne to cast her
rays, where the shadows spoke
in an alien language,
where different ships looked upon
her for a great destination,
where the winds sang a different tune
and the ocean murmured of unpredictable claims,
oh how sometimes this even star yearned,
yearned with all her heart that one day
she could leave the comforts in the puzzle,
in her small share of the vast, vast sky
oh, how the evening star
could lay eyes on an alien horizon  
so she wished, wished each morn and twilight
wished upon a lone, lone trail
set ablaze in the heavens above her throne
where the travelers, the sky-streakers,
those who starred wherever the world
she wished upon those,
the runners, those who demanded
for more

the rocking chair creaked, its wooden beams
sagging underneath the weight at the seams,*
the love affairs, the sweet motherly memories
seeped into its grains, into the sockets
which eyes stare from an high, high place
wonder, wonder what these eyes
ingrained in the wood would say
about the lives of its companionships
rocking the bodies of souls,
hurting and bleeding,
laughing and sleeping
sore all over so it strained to stand up
and trembling with exhaustion to finally rest
upon the rocking chair...
a rocking chair, with eyes gnarled with siege
sieged, surely, by imperfections embodying the
*the spirit of human lifetimes

a storyteller, the odd girl*
who rested her head in the cold sand
smiled a weary, weary smile
What is it, she asked
how about a tale, one of the gods
and a gallant hero
She smiled, teeth showing
as the water covered her face
How about one of the sea, she replied
A tale of the sea?
Yes, and how it connects all the continents
With the sea, I can go anywhere
And I'll give you a hero,
Not so particularly gallant
Yet wisdom of Sun
the Sun?
Yes, silly, the tale is the Sun and Light
And how they existed side by side
As two halves meant to be
Yet their cousin, Life
Grew dark and heavy in envy
And became the sea
To drown their love
Yet Sun, in all his glory
Felt pity chip in his fiery rays
And with an explosion of power
Brought the inferno from within
Of Life's deepest throne
And brought forth liquid fire
To spew across that of Life's watery bodice
Oh, how Life was infuriated
And howled with rage
Yet soon...soon Earth began to mold
And soothe Life's churning ways
Earth was beauty of green
And she spoke most eloquently
So that Life began to lap to her shores
And call to her in tune and lore
Yet with an ach to her heart,
A flaw to Sun's sight which cannot be seen
The Wind swept Earth away in howling love
Grieving, Life took the beings
Dwelling in his dreams
And placed the creatures on
Lady Earth's lovely, lovely shores
As gifts to her, so that Lady Earth
Could love instead the expanse
Which Life, the sea, became to be
Wind so then battered the sea
And swept him high in his throne
So by mischance parts of Life
Cascaded unto Earth's kingdoms
Earth, weary of such cruel tricks
And taken aback by Life's otherly touch
Shuddered so that her shoulders
Began to tremble in a terrible fit,
And Life, the sea, soothed her shores
And sang her crashing melodies
So the fright would leave her body...
And to this day, the world remain as is,
Life, the sea, sparring with running Wind
The Wind bold and dashing
Running untethered in great leaps
The relentless affair, the Triangle of Time
An existence of infinite grief,
And streaks of bubbling joy,
Under the heavenly eye of Sun and Light
them why are you here, on the shore
laying down on the eve of Life and Earth
Well, you see, the girl said
The Sun and Light are ancient and wise
And created all that is,
Yet as I lie here in the sand
I sometimes, quite silently,
Feel the aching yearn Life, the sea,
Reach for Earth
and if there is no Earth?
Then the loneliness of Life
Will consume him and turn
Him into ice, as seen
By Great Uncle and Aunt
North and South,
Where Earth does not dwell
can you hear Life, the sea
Yes, and how mournful
Does the music flow
An ancient tune of why
Loneliness fell to the bottom
Of the heart

she didn't feel like knowing
~knowing, perhaps
that there could be
a future with a man
~frightened, perhaps
and elated, preferring
to remain hidden
~she wants to know, really
if she's brave enough
to gamble love in turn
of a childhood friend

so here, she sits
comfortable in having to know
but terrified either way

I see white, I see nothing
yet tugged behind the corners
where dust may began to collect,
I know that light and color
is brimming, waiting to race
onto another dimension
of timeless captivity,
I see white, like a thick haze
and it petrifies my bones, locking joints
into an empty embrace,
so now, trudging through the timeless echo
I know that the time will come
for the blankness to implode,
for the spirit to by spurred forth
like that of mourning widow
seeking revenge on the docks
of an alien shore

the heat pressed*
like a weighted blanket
as the bones caressed
*shivering souls

what does it all mean,*
the pressure of hand and hand
as two people who love gaze
*inquiringly into opposite directions

I must say, I must speak*
I must admit
just quietly, ever so slightly
into the cold, grey air
and the twisting of trees
to the brisk, harsh wind
and the sea of puddles
carrying the scent of ocean
I must admit,
I feel a hole in my chest
where there, beneath
the warmth and strength
and throughout the years
I buried a bag of bones
where the future cannot
*touch me

the lush greenery springing from the canal,
thick vines twisting and rooting
into the cobblestone and cement,
elephant-sized green leaves hovering
and its spiraling vines snaking across
the expanse of the slippery, slippery rock
from the canal water chants happily,
bubbling and choppy, reminiscing
of its mountainous origin, carrying
pure water and gracious elements
of its northern origin

wish, wish upon a echoing call
the soil rich and lush, the trees
standing proud and tall
blue streams streaked with
slivers of pink salmon
and my breath even
across the mountainous roar
steps preceding the footfall
shoulders swaying and
the soul living, brewing
in the warm, warm chest
as it blossoms after every mile
tickling the ribs of the cage
and spiraling throughout
the hight of bone and tissue,
of muscle and joint
as the feet ventures off
into the far, far empire
of human endeavor

what is there to cling, clinging to the woven threads
in my nightmarish dreams, those dreams scattered
into the rosebushes and gushing ponds
they are set ablaze, and not even the scent can mask
the terrifying gaze, and the pond ices over
so that knuckles crackle where water stood before
so I set down in a downward spiral, into a massive hole
set under the ***** of my feet, I cling onto the fabrics
of this nightmarish dream, hoping that its reality
can unfold before, I say, before the ground gives away
and I'm ****** into this bottomless pit
Then with a shout I scramble, hair flying like double
shiny and marvelous, flowing and luscious
so that each glint from the fiery gaze sets wonder
and my knees rattle like the most terrifying thunder
yet into the inexplicable yonder, they propel me with
their creaking joints, like gravel's laughter
and with that laughter my feet find ground
and with that laughter light erupts with a dash
crackling and sizzling, beaming and booming
across the oily black sky of my nightmarish dream
yet here, this light was of a marvelous light
like the gush of courage and a momentous dosage
pushing and pulling of the sweetest melody
in my own vast, vast night sky

fear not to lose sight
of the stronghold
on that hill crested green,
how are we ever supposed
to know what the
hell to do

shoulders hunched over
metal tables, where hips ache
and meet the bite of the edge,
where the eye lay so intent
on forward, chanced upon
another reality, another fantasy
other than the glum-white walls,
corners like imprisonments,
here, with elbows touching the cold metal
and pencil flying away,
the notes singing and meddling,
arching over where bridges lay unfathomed
to tales of fantastical beasts and claps of thunder,
of whimsical laughter catering above an ill-fitted tower,
of diving through scouring deserts, blistered heels
and parched lips as two and two hold onto one another
of tragic heroines and mystical vessels of evil,
here, as the kindling of imagination unfolds
cling onto it, I say

a fleeting stark night, pasted colors and
brittle nosies cascading off the cobblestone streets
a beautiful awning where rain jewels
and warm, yellow ochre glow blossoms
from the store window, the puddles swirl
in their gleeful song, and the city
escalates to a breathing, clattering, makeshift
of mankind

there upon a skip, upon ancient stone
and the rhythm of clicking heels,
abruptly whisked with the shout of walkers,
there, upon an awning night
of brisk rain air and pasted colors
there, next to the shop window
with the raindrops shining like bejeweled webs
a chance meeting, nervous eyes waning
like a long note on a violin,
cheeks flushed and lips lush
a chance meeting
where two
may begin

this beloved nineteen year old
on the brink of ages deemed as greater
oh, how the fear sometimes
tangle her hands and feet
so she's sometimes left
only to ponder in her net,
reminiscing of past days,
childhood days as sweet
as the green summer hills
and nights at rickety hold tables
where the meals smell
like that of home

sometimes I speak in all uppercases
sometimes,  in a delicate row
of quiet lowercases,

sometimes, I speak
with two mixed in between
with a comma and a period,
or twenty exclamation marks
and three questions in return
and an heart emoji
smiley faces,
crying faces
and some trees to set the scene

and I wish during those
long, starry nights
I had more commas,
where the end of the sentence
can always turn itself around

what does it mean
to be my mother's daughter

how much of me
stems from her memories

the unknown beast
lurking behind the old
glossy surfaces of photos

the photos of another time
another place, another life*
glossy old photos
of hands held with peace
and a voices unheard

holding the thin vessels
of memories etched like stone
what is there to look back
to old photos
*of another childhood

perhaps by the fire
the body can ease
perhaps in the wind
the weight can cease
perhaps with earth
the runner can soar
perhaps with water
breath can become
once again