It's a still morning, quiet and cloudy
the kind of grey day I like best;
they'll be here soon, the little kids first,
creeping up to try and frighten me,
then the tall young men, the slim boy
with the marvellous smile, the dark girl
subtle and secret; and the others,
the parents, my children, my friends —
and I think: these truly are my weather
my grey mornings and my rain at night,
my sparkling afternoons and my birdcall at daylight;
they are my game of hide and seek, my song
that flies from a high window. They are
my dragonflies dancing on silver water.
Without them I cannot move forward, I am
a broken signpost, a train fetched up on
a small siding, a dry voice buzzing in the ears;
for they are also my blunders
and my forgiveness for blundering,
my road to the stars and my seagrass chair
in the sun. They fly where I cannot follow
and I — I am their branch, their tree.
My song is of the generations, it echoes
the old dialogue of the years; it is the tribal
chorus that no one may sing alone.

on the way back
met every man and his dog,
but leaden skies persisted
and the hills, up above,
got lost in the fog.

with a halo of snow,
just tipping the brim,
gray-clouds-tumble
and fall at the knee,
the limping limb, of
the deer stood in front
of me.

eyes of forests-yet-to-be-
discovered stayed in focus
not getting lost, nor twitching
for the frost nor
the freezing droplets that
cease to progress down
fur and neck.

Little love, my little squirrel, hiding in
the tree roots, the great big roots of the
trees you love so, rising up to kiss
the sky, caress the clouds, make love
to the sun, do you fear?

In the green,
     In the browns,
          In the roots near the ground,

Sometimes you hide
       (like now)

But lest you forget, (listen!)
you were born of the moon; of the rain gently tip-tapping
the leaves overhead; of the soft breeze
playing in the branches of your trees,
the trees you love so -

And so you are as strong
as the earth
as the sky
as the moon
and as strong as the
great big roots of the
trees you love so,

little love, my little squirrel.

My mind, spinning red like the spokes of your bicycle,
Dazed by halted slumber, lying flat and still.
The weight of Doubt pressed his callused hands
Upon my chest and at my laudable resistance,
He laughs.

I sink.

Dreams laced too vividly with haze-dusted fears,
Lasting in wake as only nightmares can.
Gaining strength with each repression,
Defiant, cold, and sharp,
Burns into thought to tease this somber heart.

Soaring downhill,
Wheels spin in unison without control.
The friction of conflicting realities
Ignite the fire in my core.
Cooling tears of salt and guilt fail to douse the flames.

Snapshots from the dreaming reel,
Float,
Snide toward my gated heart.
Falling.
Slow.
Elegant as sonnets torn in cruel haste
From the gold-gilded diary of a closet poet.

Why?
When we were children
Were we given
A pile of wooden blocks?
To help us count
Add up, take away,
Spell our name and scream it out.
To build and balance
As tall as possible a tower.
And when it fell over
Rebuild and rebalance.
But so many of us just
Threw the blocks at each other
And cried when one hit us
In the eye

So-
When we were given the oceans and sky,
It wasn't long before we had
Ruined more than we had learned-
A continent of gnarled, congealed plastic
Floating in our graying heaven's reflection.
And given the forests,
We build either twelve-room-summer homes or else
So many million disposable chopsticks.
We grew up unlearning and grow old crying while
Our children ask us
Why? Why? Why?
Were you so selfish for so long?
Because
Children, blocks,
don't come with instructions.

I'm looking out your windows one last time,
glancing upon the garden bed where seeds were planted
but the winter froze their roots from digging deeper
into the promisingly rich soil
and all around I see the patches where green grass once grew
when summer brought this house nothing but good news
and as lovers we scorched through the mossy grass
till nothing was left but barren paths

I step from room to room, lackluster compared to what I once knew
I know not to brush my fingers 'cross your walls like before
for with the slightest of gestures your bricks will crumble.
More still, dust covers places I swore would never grow so barren,
and the floor boards wail in pain, unable to bear much more than my weight
you're not as strong as I thought you were at the start.
once able to hold all promises of the future
now slowly falling apart

"Old man, please listen to my tale
   for someone needs to hear
The store of a girl with lies so dark
    and oh so many fears.

Old man this is important
    not just to me but to you.
I know you don't understand
    but trust me you will soon.

You is started with broken homes,
    which leads to single lives.
And judges and courts and child support,
    well, you knows as well as I.

The woman, she had a temper,
    and her fists and words did fly.
But she did her best with what she had,
   Boy did she try.

To fill the shoes that were much to big,
    when her feet were much too small.
Her frustration needed venting,
    call me the punching wall."

"Well little girl where was your dad,"
     he tenderly said to me.
"Well old man, I couldn't tell you,
    but maybe you could tell me."

A puzzled look did grace his face
    his features stiff and tall
So finally I asked the man
    "Do you recognize this at all?"

And I held out a picture of a babe,
    fresh from her mothers womb.
And a sign saying "Dear daddy,
    please come home from war soon"

"The war has messed me up dear child,
     for I am no one's dad."
I smiled as I said to him,
   "I know sir, I understand.

But you can't blame this on the war
   for we did meet again
Because I used to visit
   until you left to follow another ***** hen."

A knowing look graced his face,
    as he remembered me.
"Dear child I am sorry,
      I should have remembered thee."

"Oh it's okay old man," I say,
     "I just wanted you to know.
I have a husband now you see,
     and a family of my own

My husband, he adores the kids,
    of which there are two.
A little boy and girl, 7 and 9
    neither of which know of you.

One day I'll tell them of a man
    who had more important things to do
And then I'll point to my husband and say
   ' I didn't have a daddy like you'

And no amount of words,
   will change what is our past.
I do not seek apologies,
   I only needed to ask.

If when you go to bed at night,
   you ever think of me.
Do you ever think what you've lost,
   or did you just believe,

That we were better off alone
    and that I'd be alright.
Or were you just to busy,
    to think of me at night.

Did you remember,
   if my eyes were brown or blue.
Did ever wonder,
   If I looked like you."

"But little girl you didn't ask
    any of those today
I can answer all sufficiently
   and help you find your way."

"Old many I didn't need to ask,
     to get the answers that I seek.
For when you did not recognize
   your smile or your cheeks,

I knew that you were fine without me,
     and your reasons for being gone,
Were that you were much to busy,
     to bring a kid a long.

And I know that you don't miss me,
    for when my husband's away,
He drops down to his knees at the door,
   longing to hug his kids all day.

You did no such thing right here,
   and now I know the truth.
You were much to selfish,
   Who would need a man like you.

But before I leave, you should know,
   that I was never okay.
I always blamed myself,
   for why you didn't stay.

But thank you for the answers,
   and maybe I'll sleep tonight.
Knowing it wasn't me, but you,
   that was too weak to fight.

I'll take comfort in knowing it wasn't me,
   that pushed your love away.
You had no spare love to give,
   so I'm glad you didn't stay.

So I hope that you are happy,
   and I hope the world is kind and true.
For I am finally okay,
   knowing it was always you.

Cobalt reactions of refracted light
Yellow tulips stretched thin by the thousands
Two cranberries cover thirty-two pearls
Velvet lining encompasses the canvas
Painted with happiness
Mozart's compositions
Salvador Dali's paintings
Brought to life
Dancing through my dreams
Trial and Error has created an image of what I'm looking for
That image is you