She worked in the market
She sold flowers and jewellery
but, nobody there knew her name

With fifty young vendors
Of flowers and jewellery
Each teenaged young girl looked the same

No one remembered the smiling blue eyes
The child like lilt to her voice
No one remembered the smiling blue  eyes
Or the way that she blushed for the boys
No one remembered the smiling blue eyes
They all could be one and the same
No one remembered the smiling blue  eyes
or her hair, or her smile or her name

She was hitch hiking home
From the market one night
A car pulled on up for a ride

He told her he'd take her
If she needed a lift
It was cold,  so the girl  got inside

No one remembered the smiling blue eyes
The child like lilt to her voice
No one remembered the smiling blue  eyes
Or the way that she blushed for the boys
No one remembered the smiling blue eyes
They all could be one and the same
No one remembered the smiling blue  eyes
or her hair, or her smile or her name


No one has seen her
She's been gone for three days
She never arrived at her home

Nobody saw him
All cars look the same
And besides he was travelling alone

No one remembered the smiling blue eyes
The child like lilt to her voice
No one remembered the smiling blue  eyes
Or the way that she blushed for the boys
No one remembered the smiling blue eyes
They all could be one and the same
No one remembered the smiling blue  eyes
or her hair, or her smile or her name


The market still bustles
With sellers of flowers
Where everyone looks, shops or buys

But, something is missing
A young girl is gone
The girl with the smiling blue eyes

No one remembered the smiling blue eyes
The child like lilt to her voice
No one remembered the smiling blue  eyes
Or the way that she blushed for the boys
No one remembered the smiling blue eyes
They all could be one and the same
No one remembered the smiling blue  eyes
or her hair, or her smile or her name

Let gods all bow their heads in grief,
Command the rain: Release!
Ask the sun to please retreat,
And ask that I find peace.

Set fire to all places that these eyes have ever seen.
Set an equal blaze to all I ever felt within.
Spread the word to every ear that ever heard my pen:
That the voice they witnessed never will be that again.

Then ask each word I ever wrote:
Return, and share his grave.
Because -if I ran out of words- none written I could save.
I'd have to call them back, if not forever I am heard:
I'd never be at all -if ever I ran out of words.

I want to trace
your lips
with a feather
and kiss them right,
take flight,
and never land
without you.

~

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.

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.