The man who lives upon a cloud

Separate from the world

He picks his way through peace and war

If only to observe

The man who drifts above us all

Has no known kith or kin

He lives and breathes his every breath

With memory of sin

The man who harbours two cold hearts

And cannot ever die

He suffers twice the love and loss

This is why he lies

The man who tries to stop himself

From ever getting close

To any human he might so meet

No losses he shall host

The man who lives upon a cloud

Alone in the sky

This way he never says hello

Or has to say goodbye

Tonight while you drive, I touch your arm, shoulder, thigh; I touch the parts of you that I can reach. The parts of you that I know exist simply because I can fe­el bones under skin.
 
In front of us the highway stretches on and on, to the point that I do not know if it ever plans on ending or simply dissolving into the dark like the red tail lights ahead of us continue to do.
 
I worry that I am everything the tail lights are not: stale and unmoving, pleasing to stay in one place. I worry that I am everything the tail lights are: speeding on past the point of now, all too eager to find something, somewhere.

Your hand tucked between my thighs tells me differently and anchors me to this place, with you. I try to circle your wide, flat wrist with my small fingers, knowing that they will never reach, knowing that they will never meet each other. I touch you because I am afraid that you are not real.

when i was a little girl -
i believed my daddy was the smartest man in the world.
he knew everything. everything.
if i had a question, daddy had an answer, and a good one.
always.

his degree was in biology,
but he preached from a pulpit every sunday.
his friends, colleagues, congregation, all knew him as Pastor Brett.
to me he was just daddy -
and he was the smartest man in the world.

on days when i couldn't understand my own head,
(which were, and still are, very often)
and got frustrated with myself to the point of tears,
he would kiss my cheeks and promise me i wasn't stupid.
and coming from him, the smartest man i knew, that meant the world.

as years passed and i grew, my naivety remained with me,
and so i thought i was too smart to fall into life's traps.
i fell. i fell fast. i fell hard. i fell often. and i shattered.
each time, the smartest man in the world picked up my pieces
and reassured me i was still welcome in his home.

he never loved me any less, much to my bewilderment.
however, as my faults increased in frequency and severity,
he picked up my pieces now with weathered hands and weary eyes.
his smile was weaker, and a deep pain stirred in the chocolate irises behind his wire-rimmed glasses.

my deception morphed into vines that constricted and twisted and choked out the truth.
he poured out his love onto an underserving me, and said that God would still forgive.
but i, daughter of the smartest man in the world, am a fool.
and by my own two hands, i continued to sink.

he leaves me to pick up my own pieces now, not loving me any less,
but too weak, too exasperated, too heartbroken to do it himself as he always had.
he is done. he loves me and i know it. he shows it. but he is done.
my tears bore him. my half-true stories and pitiful excuses move in one ear and out the other.
he is stone-faced, no longer shocked by my confessions so i leave them unspoken.

his kisses, sear my flesh. his love burns because i know i don't deserve a single shred of it.
i wish he hated me. i wish we could fight. that would make things easier, right?
but he won't. he just won't. he loves me so much and i can't stand it.
but he is done. i broke my father, and his heart, for nothing.

he asked me why i do the things i do,
why i don't just stop it. why i keep on hurting him and my mother.
i didn't have an answer. all i had to offer the smartest man in the world,
was a dry mouth and empty hands.

m.f.

Once as I travelled through a quiet evening,
I saw a pool, jet-black and mirror-still.
Beyond, the slender paperbarks stood crowding;
each on its own white image looked its fill,
and nothing moved but thirty egrets wading -
thirty egrets in a quiet evening.

Once in a lifetime, lovely past believing,
your lucky eyes may light on such a pool.
As though for many years I had been waiting,
I watched in silence, till my heart was full
of clear dark water, and white trees unmoving,
and, whiter yet, those thirty egrets wading.

I'll freestyle this,
As is done the love on my lips.
There's too much that the human mind,
Leaves tightly capped inside.
Every pressure of this universe,
Laced upon a scripted source; of negativity.
It's all too real to me, I'm blind.
But as a mother once said,
There's more than tears to shed or eyes to cry.
But look instead, in the love soaked parts of our minds.
Expel all you can that's captured there,
Expose yourself completely bare and let them see,
Through all this you'll survive...

Forgetting is harder than it ought to be
Letting go is the only way to be free.
It’s not about being small but acting strong
That’s where I go wrong.

We all think we are a diamond in the rough
I just can’t be small, got to act tough.
Moving on seems completely absurd
But life goes on.

Forget you I will, or I’ll try at the least
Can’t be small but strong, I won’t face defeat.
Forget you I can’t but I’ll try once again
Just one more time.

I can wish, I can hope but it just won’t change
My voice just can’t quite match that range.
Life without lemons won’t be the same
Let’s make believe.

Arms brush and eyes meet
Hearts approach but only one takes the leap.
You regress but I can’t go back
Not like before.

You’re always around but can’t find the time-
To see that this melody is more than a rhyme.
Time stands still when I’m with you
Why not reverse?

But forgetting is harder than it ought to be.

Next time what I'd do is look at
the earth before saying anything. I'd stop
just before going into a house
and be an emperor for a minute
and listen better to the wind
      or to the air being still.

When anyone talked to me, whether
blame or praise or just passing time,
I'd watch the face, how the mouth
has to work, and see any strain, any
sign of what lifted the voice.

And for all, I'd know more -- the earth
bracing itself and soaring, the air
finding every leaf and feather over
forest and water, and for every person
the body glowing inside the clothes
    like a light.