Trouble sweeps in like the wind;
Fighting against me  in gusts.
I reach out for you, my anchor
In this storm, but you turn your back
To me, as the blackened  sky approaches.
My world begins to crumble and the
Rain and hail pelt my skin. I panic and look to you for safety, and there you
stand, unmoving.  your  cold green eyes watching me struggle,
You show no empathy, no sorrow, as I slip away into the products of my  guilt
and sorrow.

The air is changing, and the cold wind carries
promise of change. The trees will be set ablaze,
their leaves displaying fiery reds and oranges which
will melt the hearts of those who can confront
the heat of the flames.

Only the broken-hearted can see the blaze; all others are
blind. We have already been burned from our past lover’s
touch.  As time crawls by, the leaves drift to the yellowing
grass below, and eventually the blisters begin to heal.

The sun sits high now, and I am but a man.
Though as time passes, the sun sinks and
my silver moon surfaces,
I become a hunter.

As the bartender splashes cheap liquor into spotted glasses,
I stalk quietly in the corner as a lesser man’s prey stumbles
drunkenly, clumsily across the sticky floor.

My eyes glide smoothly over the room,
evaluating my most promising prospects.

My eyes settle on one;
she sits proudly and respectably, and I watch my plan
unfold in my mind.

I will be charming, and convincing;
modest and self-depricating.

She will resist, at first, as they always do,
but the sincere look in my eyes will persuade her that
I am not “every other guy.”

She will fall head first into my pool of lies,
and tonight she will be mine.
And tomorrow,

she will mean nothing.

The moon seems closer than ever. A mist rises off the water
like silver ghosts, slowly concealing the world around her.  
She moves quickly, the animal within driving her forward.  
Pain pulses in her bare feet, but she feels he is near,
and ignores the branches clawing at her face, leaving her
flushed cheeks bloodied.  A taste of love has left her ravenous.
She’ll Hunt for him until the sun illuminates the darkest shadows
of the forest.

Tonight is the new moon.
No light is cast upon
the shore and the seals
howl like banshees in the black
water, but their cries cannot be
heard over the whistling winter
winds.  She walks slowly, leaving
no footprints behind her.
A ghost of who she once was.
The salty air rushes across her
skin. With each breath she cleanses
her soul, and exhales him from her
bones.  She slowly comes to life
on the abandoned shore, as the seals
glide in and out of the black waves,
watching her and the moon
change phases.

She would rather forget him.  But she still finds sand in her pockets and
his eyes are too much like the sea for her not to remember.  
So she pinches the grains between her fingers and allows the
memories wash back to her.  Salt water streams down her face,
and somewhere far, the wind howls and the sea grass sways.

The train blasts through our small country town
at this early morning hour, and I listen contently
from your bed.

Your windows are foggy and the whistle
cuts through the still Sunday darkness.

My hand grazes back and forth across your chest.

There's just enough light squeezing into the apartment
so that I can see the outline of your face.
Your strong features glow softly in what little light
the moon offers.  

The train whistle blows as it passes through.  
This town used to burst with life; those days
are gone.  

I hold you tightly, thinking about how
we are blossoming in this wilting city.  

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