In a busy street,
though familiar,
somehow seemed very strange,
in every sense,
where, in milling crowd,
each one pushes and jostles
to inch forward,
they came face to face;
different planes of time
seemed to collide, in one second,
was it deja vu strike
in  the wrong way?

They both froze in their tracks,
"I am married" she whispered,
from a time in the past, it seemed.
As if his dream shattered
he felt a jab of pain in his heart,
brushing aside his sense of loss
he quickly asked
"With whom?"
as if the answer would change
something somewhere.
*A rush of guilt, quickly
took him over,
his voice  like a cloud in the sky
dissolved in the cacophony of life-
went out of hand,
"Isn't it me?"

on edges of swing set of summer of child
I grow -- a rust abloom while ghosts
of women once called "mother" do push
a wind a creak a falling leaf feathering
downward, candied sentiment traveling
forward

for hope for empty swing to fill to turn
the chronometer back to *12 noon, March 6, 1972

(the city had fought the fortnight before)
fire burned through the little skirts
and plastic lunch boxes
carrying the nourishment of our future
doctors and worldshakers—

                                 Future
tax paying Americans
And beacon of the nation.

Wide awake, in the thoughts of a light bulb,
(Where sidewalk stairs politic with the devil,)
A raindrop fell and whispered to the asphalt,
“Tell me what you know about happiness…”
And somewhere, in the middle of a pineapple parade,
A Pepsi can smiled and danced the night away with Nyquil labels.

How do you fit when you’re just pieces? The stage was set it just needed his entrance they were all
Seated boredom played on their faces he had seen it all before he strode to the stage picked up the long
Neck Guitar he strummed the strings then he laid his voice over the music that rose and drifted across
The room a wooden floor rafters bare his eyes were soulful they seemed to read the crowd what ever
Story they told he knew it well then he infused a golden melody in the cold gray darkness he sang of
Dreamy green forest that danced and swayed in the Colorado wind he threw a ranch house in he built it
Strong and his voice rose and rattled the window pane maybe even a few drops of rain fell and slid
Down the glass the song related a widow and her sons it was sad enough it could have been tears and
Not rain his words ran like a train it picked up speed it squalled through the valley as the mountain
Loomed high over head it slowed on the curves did you ever see lighting flash all darkness briefly slashed
By light and then you were woefully back in the dark he spoke from his own heart and he made a
Connection with the crowd they had known the dark shady places you find in life’s journey he took them
Through the seasons made it clear and inviting they set among the scenes he created with his voice they
Drew comfort as one person and many smiled at each other it was good to distance trouble for a period
Of time in detail he gave riveting stories of hard times then filled it as a cold picture of ice water on a hot
Summer day they drank deeply the water took sloping sliding turns ever deeper it ran until the well
Springs of the spirit were found even the old and haggard found new birth looked spry and smiled
Broadly it could only be explained by a sea captain because he brought the wind up on a still and dead
Sea the sails ballooned out and seemed to creak with joy off they ran toward the far horizon new
Adventures now would be found experience only the boundless waves could create the gloom of
Darkness was swallowed by light his grin broadened as he splashed them with fun and pleasure that
Some had not known for a period of time hope rose as a great unfurled flag it was waving in the distance
Pride and exuberance charged the room he had seen it before knew the thrill shared the joy but he
Lifted his eyes and saw the door he knew in a few more treasured moments the place he stood would
Be Bare he would leave them full of joy and sweet dreams but for him it was only the dark road there
Was a time when he was naive he thought he would be accepted he drew near felt the greatest feelings
He had ever known then killing words spilled from sweetest lips that he thought was a friend when she
Said this is an acquaintance of mine his heart lost all of its magic that he spun for others he sought the
Resplendent free coursing memories of happier times they would have to do for now stranger is the
Hardest real bonds there is to break it comes with many names but they convey one meening you are an
Outsider and the great old saying applies know your place well its least a good thing to know that life is good
if you don’t weaken and try to lay claim to that which will forever lie out of reach the fall is to great the pain is harder to bear loneliness brings it’s
Own dead comfort.

Oh how strange you are
little joker card, pinned against the wall.
I'm glad to see you there, my friend
you havent moved at all!
you're in good company, you see
with two others just like you.
one standing upon his head and grinning
the other one riding a wheel thats spinning
and you, my friend are at the beginning
of the strangest tale of all.

I've gathered you here because I feared
that something was amiss.
I could not find my friends, you see
they've taken to the mist.
so take heed, little joker cards,
be quick and run away
and when I leave the room, I know
you will sing and dance and play.

Stay mute for me so i can imagine
all that you have left to say

I walk with ghosts. They haunt me every day, and every day I remember.

I remember that time when we were going to head home. It was raining--pouring--and for the first thirty seconds after our realization of that fact we were unhappy, afraid of being wet and cold. Afraid of the shadows outside, and the rivers running tracks down the hill. We were uncomfortable. We wondered if we should wait it out--let the clouds cry until they fell asleep. Spend our lives under those fluorescent lights watching raindrops chase each other down grimy windows, our breath fogging the glass below our noses.

But then, something hit us. There was the act of waiting, staring down droplets like each and every one of them was a curse against us. . . or there was the act of forgetting. Letting go. Being free. A little bit of cold and wet was no match for us, whatever we were.

I remember the sweet sound of the heavy doors slamming behind us, and the feel of those first few raindrops hitting my eyelashes, my nose, my arms (which I had freed from my jacket so I could soak up every ounce of the shower). I remember we ran through the streets, yelling out the excitement that had materialized magically within us, laughing at the echoes bouncing off the quiet houses, at the strands of hair glued to each other's faces, at the sheer ridiculousness of our lives.

I remember throwing my bag onto the ground and breathing in chilly air. I remember watching the little splashes interrupting the calm surface of every puddle, and then throwing myself into one without a second thought, feeling the water flow over every part of me, and laughing as I stared up into the sky at the droplets falling into my face.

                {I wondered what it would be like to touch the surface of a falling raindrop. To freeze it in midair and have the satisfaction of holding it my hand, as if it were a diamond}

Soon they were laying beside me, our arms creating warm connections, and we were laughing and silent and laughing again, sharing the power of everything around us.

We made rain angels in the road, and I smile every time I think about it.

And then, the hurt hits me, like I'm back outside that day, only each tiny raindrop has transformed into a shard of those stupid grimy windows. I watch as they plunge into my skin, and I'm horrified because no one is there to tell me that my tears can't mix in with the rain that isn't falling.

When I am around you,
I’m confused like the way
cars curtsey at one another
at four way stop signs
when no one’s really sure
who got there first,
or if it’s their chance
to go next

And then before anyone
has a chance to blink,
some will say **** it
and the curtsey contorts
into a slow motion collision
that leaves people crying,
saying sorry, and momentarily
their lives pause for each
other as they evaluate
their damages