The trees sway gently now
Felling the petals of spring
Falling winds and lighter skies
Beneath the birds wing

The seeds find roots
Something begins to simmer
And just like that
Its once again the winter

One day, said the moon
I will touch the earth
I wish to be there soon
I wish to know it's worth

But that day never came
As she drifts slowly away
But in the surface of our ponds
She's left an image of her face

In the dark and swooning night

Stones settle on the riverbed
The water rushes on for now, but
Someday where the river is fed
Will dry, and the river will bow

To her, o' earth so dear

And the stones will still remain
Unmoved, but not quite the same
A little worn away, some but a sliver
Having lived with the mighty river

There is a silence within a garden
A patience in those growing things
A gentle waiting, a caring pardon
For the pain we tend to bring

No words are spoken by the plants
As they unfurl from the earth
They do not need to, nor understand
The reason for their birth

A garden knows what has come to pass
What we have done, for what we yearn
It grows slow, but has one thing of us to ask
Some water, and a little patience in return

does hamburger meat stick together because it is still searching for the ghost of it's bones?
in college, i worked in a factory.
i trudged to work every monday morning at five thirty and put on gloves
to plunge into the sticky mess of beef that i weighed and clipped and submerged in.
the meat sticks together and bleeds into the same palm, which is my own.
i am livestock.
i am a nonsensical sticky mass of fat that is being pulled apart by another.
although i am trying to pull myself back together,
the bones i clung to were yours.

I walked a path I knew
Lead to the old oak tree
Where the wind blew
On bark carved you and me

I walked a path I knew
Where our love was bound
Where the oak tree grew
And burned it to the ground