There was a sense of wonder as I wandered through my childhood, gazing up, knowing the trees never ended.
There is tranquility where none previously existed.
There was disappointment when the fence was discovered.
There was a splendid sense of bliss hidden in the clouds among the alligators and elephants.
There were smiles there.
There was patience there.
There was poetry.
There were smiles.
There was music.
There were phone calls that lasted upwards of an hour.
There were times the phone never rang.
There was a need for change that burned so deep, if not sated would choke its way out.
There was self-creation, cut and carved out of the mold.
There were few words spoken and the ones that were usually wished they could take the first plane out of town.
There was coffee.
There is coffee.

we keep the house cold
so that we can trace life
out of the puffs of clouds
that hum from our lips.
as he skates off the bed
feet nibbling
at the floor boards,
arms drizzling
past his waist,
he sits on the edge of the air
changing what filters into my lungs
with each yawn that stretches from him-
his pale back angled to my face, I
stretch my legs towards him,
resting my feet on his back,
toes tucking into the brails
of his spine,
and we wait within
the beauty of those ripe days,
when everything fell
on our swollen eyelids.

when all is measured time begins to grate
upon the senses then we have to start
a different sort of journey where the part
that makes our human feeling more than freight
is what's required to set the message straight
not only in the realms of work and art
but so the honest signal might depart
from deep inside to past the furthest gate
not every cloud is signal of new rain
or so we learn from waiting as each night
the sigh of wind brings us no fresh relief
from all our suffering and the hard pain
nor are the killer birds disturbed in flight
nor yet the door secured against the thief