~

On borrowed steps of distant stars
~



Of broken branch and multi-colored stone façade
the pathway steals my outward glance
Winding through the cottage hills
like kite string freed by a strong wind, it spills
Patterns shadow in abstract array
through barbed wire and solid steel
barricades, creating menacing shapes,
criss-crossing narrow wheel ruts of long ago


“I tug my trousers in defiance and set my pace”


Obstacles, of stead and stood,
branded in a wilting wood…
directions carved to empty me of all I know as good


Within my chest sits a living compass,
beating my quest in a never ending melody,
sweet as creamed corn pie and pointing
towards the sun, which sits before me
two hills above the horizon on this new day
Temptation beckons over my right shoulder,
whistling in the breeze of delicious
offerings, and I do hunger…


“Still I stand firm of my journey back to your love”


Take your glow of nectarines
Cool refreshing summer streams
For I shan’t waver, not an inch, her love calls in my dreams

Midday, as the solar glow finds my shoulders red
and sweat clings like life in dampened conclusions,
blisters form bringing the pain of decisions made before…
and I would have it no other way…for this I deserve
Mountains faced of jagged stone break my crawl,
rubble sweeps my feet, as my knees bleed,
thirst speaks in the language of a long feared enemy…
yet I do not listen…


“No challenge shall be placed that will keep me from my return to you”


State your case in hammered stone
Tear my skin of broken bone
No tethered vines of loneliness shall sway me from my home



My shadow now waits before me, long and slender,
molded by dried weathered foot prints…my foot prints,
heading a direction opposite my heart
Many years old yet still their outline remains as a warning…
When I see it, the lilac arbor, scented in old desires and
new in life, encasing a glow, melodies of  gold finch sing
as my eyes find your smile, an extended hand, a soft touch
I have found my way home…


“My sweet love, this heart begs forgiveness and longs you eternally”


Mistakes I’ve made, my journey far
on borrowed steps of distant stars
my every waking dream desires to be right where you are

It was finished the day it was started,
and we flew it on the football field near our house.
Spring.

We built it in the garage.
A diamond of wooden dowels
string, and newspaper.
I sat in amazement at your sudden display
of expertise in kite making.
That's how dads are,
full of secret professions.

It was quiet sitting on the sideline
watching our creation look so tiny
in the sky.

You danced to the song of fatherhood that day.
And I sat captivated in the audience.

Time passed and your song stopped.
The kite never flew again and
I forgot how to make another but,
I am still on that field
sitting cross-legged
with my chin
in my palms.

Watching.

I'm up on the mountain
when I was born,
where I touched the cheek of a quiet,
kindly God,
who painted the hills for my birthday
while I walked a low-standing
stone labyrinth with eyes for the center,
and none on return.
With the stone in my hand
I gazed at a summit silent
and prayed tell what yielded years
above the clouds and what had been
bestowed on the watcher of worlds.
What can you tell me?
Who have you seen in the garden below,
dancing on the hills,
skipping stones on the lake?
Do you remember me?
I passed under your eye
but once,
and a thousand times over
in the frayed leather ring
about a tiny cross.

In the seat with the split window,
black cold metal blocked the road ahead,
the sliver of window from the seat infront of me
clouded and beaded with cold rain.
I'm only aware of what's passing me now --
what I've already passed.
None of it feels real, though.
The trees and roadside ditches seem to jump
like an old film
like thousands of pictures flashing in sequence.
The rain streaks making the scene flow not quite right.
A few seats behind me painted nails trace an empty smile
on the condensation.
Thousamds of raindrops rolled behind
two blank eyes and one hollow smile.
Yet,
the image never beaded and melted away,
even as she started to cry.
I watched the wind pet small waves
onto window puddles,
and flinched as pothole vibrations cut it apart.
As we lerch forward --
perhaps for a red light --
the puddle would run to an unseen place,
a place I could not see yet.

Into my heart’s treasury
I slipped a coin
That time cannot take
Nor a thief purloin, —
Oh better than the minting
Of a gold-crowned king
Is the safe-kept memory
Of a lovely thing.