!She was so beautiful
so much grace.
yet her pride would not allow tears.
He looked into her saddened eyes.
his gentle fingers touching her cheek softly.
Almost in a whisper he said
You must know I have always loved you.
fighting back teardrops
she answered.
I always loved you too honey.
The softness of his touch
lingered on her cheek.
She knew it would be printed
on her heart forever.
Just as he walked away from her
for the last time.
When she was sure
he was out of earshot.
she whispered.
You will forever
be my special one darling.
The one who got away.

The things I do not tell
even to myself.
Are the same secrets the
blossoms know when they
proliferate the cherry tree.
Even as they prepare
to fall like confetti.
They are the
babbling secrets
of the brook as its waters
bounce stunned
into the rocks of the rapids.
Hush! whispers the librarian
As the rows
and volumes of books
keep their dusty secrets
in shadowed silence.
In the garden
the fluted speakers
of the morning glory
sing only a song of silence.
As I fall asleep
in the nighttime quiet.
Just the taunting voices
Of the nocturnal whip-poor-will
Never tell!
Never tell!
Never tell!

This is my family
splayed out like a fox
caught in the headlights of a
passing car, all brown fur
& wandering teeth,
dried up & tossed on a lonely street.
Left behind unaware of
the wreckage caused,
the family bereft of a sister
 & daughter so loved.
That's what I see from the clouds,
from my imagined suicide.
I see a lost family
trying not to stare at a
huge empty chair.
A Christmas table now a shadow,
not a celebration but a day to fear
& that stops any thoughts I
might have about trying to
disappear.

"I don't smoke," she says as
I hand her a cigarette.
We collide at that table
swapping stories about regret
until the the lights have been on
for too long, and we must leave.

I know her struggle, those
familiar claws not long gone
from my own back; still
falling, wings not yet drawn,
I try to be a solid rock on which
she can rest in her throes.

Old souls unite for a brief
attempt to search the shadows
of ourselves, waterfalls of
doubt, browsing the meadows
of questions in our minds, waiting
for the rain to bloom us into answers.

we're all pretending to smell candles
loving people who don't love us
and wondering when it will end

Tell me do you ever cry while we waste away our lives?
Oh, I wish I could be more.
I could be more.
I could be more.