Like a foolish boy I once
went looking for danger,
Learning of tall tales
then seeking them for myself.

The gazette speaks of a melding
between two celestial bodies.
Don't gaze directly at it
no matter how sublime it may be.

I have met the protagonist before
if even through tinted shields.
A lifelong rapport, yet is
hitherto a subtle stranger.

I braved a look yesterday,
to examine all the fuss.
Touched by your spell
as your visage fills my eyes.

Now when I blink I spot you
staring back with blue flame.
A face etched into the cave of
my sockets - your new home.

Forecast arrives, moon meets sun
as my anxiety sweats in my hand.
I don no lenses, for you are the
enticing stranger which I cannot fear.

Spoiled milk
I left you waiting in the dark for far too long
and now you've gotta go
These bones are gonna miss you

I am not a sculptor,
wouldn't shape you in stone.
I just wanted to paint,
and give your smile a home.

I sat by my easel,
giving blotches for backgrounds.
To show you that vision
that always follows me 'round.

Amidst sullen, sickly moss,
unable to be harmed:
You, a curious clover.
So queer, yet I am charmed

This portrait, I said,
I'm making as a gift.
You took a step back
and conjured up a rift.

I finished the sketch,
except for your smile.
I wouldn't need ten years,
but merely a short while.

my poor castaway son
why do you draw your own blood?

you bleed for azure butterflies;
yet they are false, maybe you were
mistaken by speckled shadows
on the walls of your lonesome igloo.

my distraught little boy
why do you clutch your pillow so tight?

you never had a problem sleeping
and you complain of heat at night.
what makes the company of another
so desirable in twilight hours?

my son, bearer to my name
why can't you sing the way you used to?

you followed her breath like a beacon
and she lead you down foreign footpaths.
reluctantly pack up your campsite,
and escort yourself to another route.

my son, my sole wish is
for you to love yourself
as much as I love you.

It is winter.
I am on a bus.
This is the most efficient way home.
When I arrive, I will efficiently relax
and efficiently entertain myself.

The numerous participants of this bus
likely have similar plans.
Though we rattle in unison
like bottles in a six-pack,
Everyone wants nothing to do with everyone.

The bus is stopped at a light.
Two men are drenched in sunlight.
They cross, buffeted by fierce winds.
It is winter.
I am on a bus.

Among two men, four arms are occupied.
One is a shield, guarding from the sun.
One is a white cane, guarding from the earth.
Two are coupled, and together they cross.

The men are not related,
apart from their aged appearance.
They complete the crossing,
and one of the men lowers his hand.

Disability becomes ability,
and a caregiver is left reeling.
For generosity is most rewarding,
after unearthing one's humanity.