I saw a Stone Lady looking my way
With her eternal grey eyes
She held a stone water jug
She was staring intensly at me,
So I asked,
Stone Lady, what hidest thou in thine  unblinking stare?
To my utter amazement,
She replied,
Eternity,
You temporary thing.

go away
your spot
is steeped
in bleak spirits
go kayaking
go running
do something
anything but
the same thing.

Picked up a walking stick
and set out to find
the point of their story
couldn't say
if they found it
but they seemed happy enough
at the end.

Intensity in a writer is easy to spot
its in the callus on the finger that braces the pen
Its in the way she cannot breathe
when she looks at you
or until she finishes that line.
It's in the way you lose her for hours
as she writes, or reads, or paints you in poetry.
Its the way she tries to find words
that work better than I love you
Its that her love letters are 4 pages long
its the way she laments not being able to convey
exactly how she feels
its that sometimes her words don't seem to be constructed of ink
but life blood.
and that she is not flesh and bone
but paper and ink
She'll leave bruises with teeth
scratches with too short nails
because for just a moment she wants to consume you
we are all like that
we just want to be in your blood
to infiltrate your mind only for a moment.
It's in that she'll always remember the things that hurt you
every scar you've ever shown.
but not what she had for breakfast
it's her propensity for addiction
she'll say you make her want to be better
do not doubt her
you are the sky, the ink well, the page...
you are every beautiful passage
she doesn't love anything the way she loves words
you are words.... you are the thing itself.
you are the only thing even close in beauty
to the page.