She does not wait, she moves,
stars winking in the satin sky,
grass soft in the rippling wind,
and her breath is warm, at last.

The country road seemed endless
And the clock was unbearably slow
So I watched the sunset instead

It appeared behind the horizon
Framing the hills with
streaks of orange and gold

Each tree stood out sharply
Like it was painted with tiny
brushstrokes dipped in ink

Just above the trees the sky turned
to a light green
then faded to blues and purples

And I will never be able to explain
how the green blended so flawlessly
into the orange

But at one point I caught sight of six birds
flying in a crooked line across the sky
Each black wing outlined in gold

And I was stricken
Because no matter how fast I drive
I will never be free like them

I have spent my whole life
looking into the distance
and watching black birds fly
over the trees

All these houses are boxes
and the fences are cages
and I am trapped here like a bird
with clipped wings

So I look at the horizon
at the far away trees and the
soaring black birds
and wonder what it's like to be free

a crumpled ticket in her hand,
it's hovering just before twelve,
the light above, can't
illuminate the
night, and the cold seeps into her
gloves.

forgotten bag not in her hand,
or a paper to prove her name,
right on time she turns her head,

at the distant sound of a train.

The last of her worry slips away, with the
rattling of the ground,
a smile on her lips as she steps
inside
never to return homebound

Thats what I realized on a Tuesday morning, right before the rain fell but after I had made my coffee. I like dark coffee with lots of milk and sugar. Something about the way the bitterness blossoms over my tongue, and how the sugar tastes but doesn't last. I also like how the warmth spreads through my stomach, like a remnant of the warm blankets on my pale purple bedspread. It's autumn though, and it doesn't take long for the rain to fall. I drive through it in my old ***** van, kind of like a mother of three, but with no children and no extra seats. It's a bit funny when the stereo doesn't work, and the left break light is broken, and the grocery store is closed on Sundays.

I am the dented marble
The one that just doesn't look quite right alongside the rest
The one that lays forgotten under the living room cabinet
with the dust bunnies and paper clips

The leaves fall,
the snow melts,
the seasons change,
but everything stays the same.
I want to go to a place where time doesn't exist.

I turn my key in the rusty lock, but this place doesn’t feel like home. Winters are always freezing, and seem longer than they are. Stagnant. My lips are chapped and your face looks pale in the watery light, but at least we are both still breathing. Every exhale hovering in the air like a ghost. We’re always saying to ourselves that things will get better, happier, we are also always reminding ourselves that we can throw in the towel, should we need to. But really, what good does that do? We can dig holes and lie in them, but what good does that do? I say I should get some rest and the air is cold in my lungs, frozen like the tips of my fingers, the solid earth, nails in the ground. I force the door open and it’s still the same. I’m always surprised when time keeps moving forward.

They warned you that your blood would boil and your fingers would burn,
but still you reached for their light like a drowning man at the bottom of a well,
and tried to swallow them whole.
I remember that sparkling night,
when we watched a comet fall like a tear drop pulling open the sky,
and I asked you what you wished for,
even though I already knew the answer

A flame flickers in the dark,
A speck of light against the cavernous room.

I want to tell you the truth,
because you deserve to know everything,
about the room and the candle,
and the colour of the shadows.

It's easy really.
They are black,
and I am grey,
and you are not here at all.

I haven't told you everything yet,
partly because I don't think you're ready,
and partly because I like to watch the light flicker.

I hold my palm over the flame and still,
remain silent.

I love the rain like this,
when it hits the ground
like a tempest,
your skin like hot wax,
and your eyes like flames.
The air between us so
still it could break.

I wish I could pour my heart out
but I don’t know how,
as the night gets thicker
and darker,
the silence gets longer.
If you are going to touch me,
you better do it soon.