One would think
A conversation
A simple thing
A little piece of blather here and there
Don't listen don't ask
Questions are too much
To consider
Dig the deep hole
For the source of
Your curiosity
Why bother?
Just talk after another
Made a pause
And then go back to
The solitary confinement
Of your isolation

Dawning dullness covers eyelids
Vailed feeling shrinking numbness
Sitting quiet watching shadows
Like a dream it's slipping dripping
Life between my fingers sinking
Into dirt transforming slowly
Thickly painting feelings heavy
Yet...

Final song is still to catch
Distill from the air that
Nurtured lifeless cells
Oh no, wasn't born to waste

No real gesture emerges
For the sea of falseness,
I need some truth
To keep on going
My hands too busy
Keeping my head above
This muddy water

There are times
When feeling pushes against the skin
Stretching it until it comes apart
Along the seems of what you thought
Was polite and acceptable
Threatened by your own self you
Swallow it deeper to preserve
The bond, but alas it's broken
By your silence
This steam will burn you
And will fire out uncontrollably
When your mind falls asleep
Find the words
Have some faith in human race
To show you that your feelings matter

Intention underneath the did
Can you feel it's pattern?
It's push reminding of betrayal
It's pull begging for existence
It's yearning to trust and begging for
Solitude - quiet, unperturbed
Maddening
With bravery to fall into abyss of the unknown
To find a piece of you in hands
Whose next move will always be a question
Connection calling faith
To dance the tango
The passionate move of dangerous feeling
Trust is dangerous
Feeling is dangerous
Life is dangerous
Death is safe
It is permanent and predictable
Joylessly
Like its little sister routine
Yet we can find snapshots of joy
In the most predictable of our days
While sharing it embrace another soul

Forgiveness unfelt
Like a snake stuck in your throat
Forever to squirm where you feel it
Looking into the eyes of an iceberg
Desperate to humanize her but
Deep down I find no faith
I cannot feel that golden grain
In the pit of her stomach
I do not sense the gentle pull of
Fragile humanity solty sweat
Too cold
To get naked soled in front of this
Shell limited by self-protection
Yet I feel her deeply so I can't even hate

What does infinite longing
sound like?
Where is the vault that holds
the seed corn of sadness?
And how can we mute our fear
when the barred owls in these
dank woods sob in perfect
sympathy
with the night?

Here
the tense oboes find their range
silence pervades their thoughts
the drum marks a beat
while the string section weaves
a hieroglyph of grief
and resignation.

This symphony is called
the song of the night
and night proves to be
full of whispered life
rustling leaves
and the courage to face it.

But night is not synonymous
with darkness.
Its ways and means
harmonize with the light
render half the whole
parcel our sleeping hours
into dreams
and fitful moments
beneath the staring moon.

In the morning
a plaintive bird song
stirs thought
brings the sun into the east
and wraps night's dreams into
a silk handkerchief
where dreams are tightly bound
and forgotten.