Here the rain
takes its time

the world become
a Chinese watercolour

and we floating
in an eternity

the sure touch
of a master

a delicate wash of colour
our minds

becoming a world
that only an artists sees

in the moment
brush meets ink

and the final touch
occurs:

The world hears what it wants to listen to
so relax poet, you are way down on the list

Maybe someone somewhere sometime
will come across your singing

Written in dust on the inside of a cupboard,
when you were drunk on cheap liquor

But only you will know that
just before the cupboard gets recycled

the cupboard lets out a sighing
which is really you both singing

Together
for the last time

you watched the magician
bewitched

and magic fell from the mouths
two strangers

communicating
the best magicians of all  

abracadabra

they fell in love

you will not find it in your text books
you have to live it to have any true understanding
and you have to persevere to enjoy its fruit
all the way to the grave and beyond only love is eternal
so start your living in conformity to the end of all things

Unknowing, unaware.
Doesn't see, so it doesn't care.
Hanging up - Just like the bones,
Limp and lifeless and no one knows.
By the neck, the hanger holds;
Touched by the dark and growing cold.
The beauty gone, the color faded;
The fight is over, the survivor gave in.
Cursed by the mind, tainted by darkness,
Victim of everything, eyes dull and spark-less.
Nothing left, the coffin closes.
The door shuts early
                         On the Pink Sweater's Closet.

Dear J,
   I may be at a loss for words half the time, and the other half I might have too much to say, but I can almost always say this; I love you. I have felt fear and I have felt bravery and I have felt loss. I can look pictures of us and I can recall everything we did that day. I can listen to videos of you and I can tell what you felt. And I know that you didn't think I was paying attention, but I knew how you looked when you thought something was unfair. And I knew the look in your eyes when you saw the light just right in a sunset and you knew that nothing could ever be recreated quite like that. I felt the same way about you.
   Wherever you are, know that loving someone isn't a matter of feeling something or not feeling something. It's a matter of knowing what you're feeling and when you need to let go.
   I think that people know that letting go involves unfurling your fingers and watching something fall from a great height. It's the act of following that objects downward motion that gets to us. That once it meets the ground or whatever surface it is deemed to hit, it's gone. What was there is gone. And once you think about that you think of what could have been there. That one last touch, that one last feeling of bliss that comes with knowing that the moment you wake up the sun will be shining in rivulets through fingers that tangle in hair fresh off the pillow. It's sad to know that nothing like that will happen again.
   The sun won't shine the same way. Instead it may simply fall. It won't cascade, it won't flow over the edges of noses or smiling lips. It's the same way water may lose a stone from a riverbed and from there on after it doesn't run quite the same way. But another stone, another pebble will fall in place because replacement happens.
   I guess what I'm trying  to say, is that letting go is letting someone else take a spot. In order for something else to happen you have to let your joints move out of their grip and unfold from their hold on something that wasn't meant to be held by you anymore.
   Sometimes you have to let them land somewhere new.
I only hope that it's somewhere even more beautiful than before.
            Claire