familiarity can scar
on the home stretch*
to the haven we all belong
look out, out over the canyon
look how far the horizon yawns
the quaking feet dawns
on the dusty prairies and glittering streams
trembling vocals resonating where
the soul roams

we all simply want to belong
to something more than
the fistful of strife
quaking within our
the quaking rivulets
which run up and down
the road we have
come from  

*and I am on my way

~have you ever drowned?

metaphorically or literally?

~does it matter?

*i guess not

a spilling broth of muse*
shimmering under the golden flicker
golden rays folding
travelling like a flock of pollen
downy ethereal of a darling rose
peckered white and chuckling
the brambles scraping the sky
the way my flesh warmed
in the insolent pair of eyes
hidden as one with the bloom
the crackling of thunder
ignited in his hearth
yet the dangle of curls
crude flick of his wrist
yet the disguise perceives
a performance which doesn't
fool her
and the rose quivers
from the breath which escapes
a glimpse of a softness
before gone his footsteps
*pad softly in the dawning torrent

A flume of cloud dust
Residue left by the particles
Or another wrought arm
Shoulder to shoulder
Head to head
An elbow grazing
Eyes averted as if
To mean nothing
Petals like stolen pebbles
Left on the marble countertop
On the waning afternoon light
A warm grey and mystifying echo
Sometimes my hands tremble
Skipping the stones
The flower tucked behind my ear
And a void of fear
Underneath the surface
Which has iced
Over the absent years

realms ricocheting*
candles aflame
*scented candles

mostly strings,
stepped aside

mostly things
shafts of delight

mostly swings
memories reprise

another being
faring without knowing

sometimes I have nothing to say
sometimes simply nothing to do

but to listen to the words
to feel my body gravitating towards the ground

to not to speak
to feel my mind fall empty

sometimes these moments
I find the gems of beauty

sometimes these flickers of utter silence
my ears ***** at the music rumbling

sometimes these etches of stillness
there before a dance unfolds

once there was a story
an interlude, more like
which never begun
nor a beginning
with had
no end

funny how
time flies

pondering how
sounds rely

on time, a deception
another mechanism

a gesture, a portal
to the sweet spot

where gravity
exists no more

An eclipse into
Another mishap
Wrought iron gates
Sinking in emerald
Blades of grass
A forgotten address
Etched in the weathered stone
A frightful whisper of melodies
Strung with revolving anxieties
When the sound of a pin drop
Of a wayfarer
Stumbling upon the
Cracked foundation
Of an old friendship

Stained glass bellowing
of passionate sublime hues
Stroke of sun's reprise

Glowing fluorescent orange
A lamppost  outside
Curtains beckoning the night

This is the color
This is the price
This is the reason
I chant for a greater day

What is this
I know not
On fire
Underwater
Saved
Fallen
There is life
There is death
There cannot be
Another
*this

I know I am talking to myself  
But leave me to my chatter
Nothing changes but the warmth
Of my own skin
Every golden morning
I alone hold the microphone
A monologue in an opera
I know not who is seated
But only the echo
Of my echoing song
Rebounding, moving
Restless
Aching to be
Heard

There are some things
Too beautiful
To simply
Never
Let
Go

bowl of hot steaming white rice*
faint porcelain bowl
*each grain foretelling wisdom

please
never lose your magnificence

returning nightmares moonlit*
if somewhere past loses
*sea corals forging poetry

to the next person
who comes crashing in*
please hold on
but please
pretty please
let go gently
before I
start to
*drown

the final word
I am leaving

temples spilling sunlight
empress standing mountainside
drinking in the startling thunderstorms

dusk settling upon moth eaten vine groves
descending black-dotted wings
powdered of grey white
solitude spoken within
every downstroke

tin fences, rusted into skeletons
turbulence trembling its stakes,
peeling the lovely yellow paint
where butterflies once nested
scrawny black cat
like smoldering black night
carrying two yellow moons
and hairs of silver light

a plain, forgotten location
where lovely sights once roamed
rosy red cheeks,
perfume of lavender melodies
afternoon mint tea
and lemon poppy cookies,
laughter bouncing in the mountain's ribcages

but the settlement has lost
of its melodies and sublime treatment
gone quiet but for the flutter
of moths eating away
the shelved books bleeding of neglect,

yet on an ordinary morning stroll
a young lady,
a lady with voices
singing soulfully in her chest
and daggers in her head
scars like crescent sugars in her eyes
stumbled upon the settlement

the lame, stone cottage
she knocked on the withered blue door
and found the hinges swing open
of it's own accord,
she stepped timidly
without a second thought
of where to go

stepping lightly through dust
and strewn rubble,
she lit a flame and drank the puddle
of beautiful rain water
collected in the porcelain bowl

the moths fluttered,
slight shadows like speckled dove eggs
she stroked the cat
and fed the young master with syllables
admiring the wild flowers,
tulips and lavenders,
daisies and roses
bloom outside the window

caressing each marvelous spine
of dusted books,
revealing the beaming beauty
hidden so well deep within,
pouring over the pages
glorious in the high mount of knowledge

she learned, learned how to tend
the overgrown garden which once stood
learned how cats breath
learned the tragedies of neglect
learned the balance of life and death,
the passage of time
the vessel of humanity
burdened with
wonder

she tended her garden
plucking tender sweet grapes
kiwis and even
sweet potatoes,
naming the black cat
that of the last waning light
before night befalls over the world,
the breath before when
time ceases to ache
and shadows are thrown
silent and beautiful,
speaking with the aching golden sunlight,

she washed the white stones
and made the path,
re-patched the teared curtains
cleaned the bile in the door hinges,
sweeping the filth from the floors
thatched the roof

she became a lovely, lone girl
with the black cat by the name
of things forgotten
remembered once again
like happiness and joy,
love and nourishment
knowledge and intelligence
a calming quiet like calm foggy mornings
rather than that of ineligible silence

she became a queen,
a lovely lady
of her own home
she refurnished from the rubble
and became a companion
of the tulips of the garden
and sweetness from
the purest water
streaming not too
far from home