You’re not the unreachable stars
You’re not the almighty sun
You are every blade of grass
You are every deer in the forest
You are every ripple in the pond

But I
I am the restless moonchild
Roaming senselessly through
The starless sky

But I
I am the moon that wakes
Among slumbering hours
And sleeps through life

But I would rather be the dust
That buries your loneliness
But I would rather be the dews
That wash away your sorrow

Your gift for me is my love for my humility
Your happiness for me is my willingness
To be your eternal shadow and not just
The momentary sunshine

You’re not the sky high above all
You’re not the gale that takes all
You’re the dove I wish to caress
You’re the untouchable dandelion

And I
I am the dark clouds above all fleeing life
The inescapable starless night

And I
I am the gale wind that leaves nothing behind
That goes away silently
When there’s no hope left to be find


And I would rather be the catkins
That hold on to your dreams in flight
And I would rather be the honeybees
That take away your bitterness, despair and fright

Please show me how to love my humility
Please bring back my happiness, my willingness
To be your eternal shadow and not just
Momentary sunshine

For my love for you is not above all,
            But within every breath of life.

The wind is grey with ice.
Frozen days rot from inside,
leaves are black with silence.
My long hours are unended,
part of me has been stolen at night.

The first snow waits to sweep
down from the blind hills.

Tell me I’m the moon,
Baby,
That I pull you in
That I’m only reflective
Of that shown upon me
That nothing warm
Will stay

Tell me, baby,
That you’re the stars
A vast, luminous galaxy
That your black satin backdrop
Won’t swallow me blind
And spit me out
Grey

Have
come to quiet
the voices
to wrap them in
sea-fret,  to set
them aside for a while.
Rest ankles in campion barrows,
to search for the wonder
we lost in the chase for tomorrow.
To smile with the guise of a child,
if the moment be woken,

And, should it arise
from my somber entwines,

exalt in the pleasure of being,
supine in the seconds
of mystical present. Alive
in the genuine time
of my life.

Have
come to quiet
the voices
To wrap them in
sea- fret  to set
Them aside for a while.

We play on themes of an old faith. You know
The story as one who fought it believes
In the war, and then doesn't believe it
Was worth the price she paid for believing.
A quick step through the graveyard gets you past
The carvings, cut flowers wilting on the
Rocks and a line of ancestors beneath
The surface of a small hill here or there.
New Harmony.  Golgotha.  Palestine.
In the light of day the granite glistens,
The weathered old stones lean toward the trees,
Patient with their stories. Come back tonight.