Someone, please tell me why I set ships to sail
Why I build them intent to fail
I fret and follow them from the shore
Eyes ******* up distinction to see,
Sure that maybe one among them all
At least one will come return to me.

In Carson you took my hand as we crossed the whitecapped river - cold water cramping toes, we minced our way along algaed rocks like cats tiptoeing on ice
But in Tillamook we hunted Dungeoness crab and I roared for you
Did you hear?
We were hunting our kin - and I wondered if this could be sacrilege to the Cancers, perhaps not
But I heard the quiet "Thankyou," given to each one as you lowered them into the ***, the reverence in your voice soothed me like the pounding of the Pacific arm along that beach - my own golden shore -
I thought I had lost it you see -
Hidden in the dunes we consumed the flesh of the ***** and sat down to watch the sun melt into the blue
I wanted to say thank you too
But the words escaped me like your bandanna flying out from the truck
Like those ***** in the bay below who felt us tugging at the lines and crawled out of the ascending baskets, escaping death from our mouths
I like to think that we are them as well
Because we both run from comfortable prisons, the pillow that cradles the head but entraps the heart.

His eye is on the sparrow. I watch them too; from my porch I can see the golden feathers lit by sunrise rays. I counted myself among them, it seemed much simpler that way. Didn't intend to build a nest there, to stay, but the days grow short and my safe harbor is miles and miles away. My mother asked me not to cut my hair, her golden headed daughter; is pride wrapped up in locks? I will lose it all anyway, every yellow strand. Maybe the sparrows will come to use it, weaving homes, their own safe harbors. There is good in that at least - I wondered a long while if it was possible - but I like to think it's true. His eye is on the sparrow
I watch them too.

In Morris the goats next door are braying
Hello! Hello!
As I ****** through the underbrush, legs tangled among weeds, hearing
Intonations of the beast, perhaps just a sound but it seemed to me to be:
Goodnight! Goodnight!
Said the goats blight
I see you! I hear you!
Come away from the night.

What can the rich know of hunger
Or the starved stark raving mad life
Pursued by those they call fortuneless -
Those who carry with them every penny of affection, rolling each coin along naked fingers, eyeing the emblem of trust engraved, the stubborn profile revealing merely one side of the man - will this one be kind to the touch
And once spent go farther than commercial advertisements could ever know, will the time spent be earned back by a truthsome look given freely and the admittance of wishing for more time with the other, more than the span of an hour within a night but wishing for a thousand nights further, mornings, afternoons, and twilights in between - serving only to waken and from the coins face glean that an hour has passed and while passing the mirror has changed its occupant: the trees outside have all turned green.

Letters that will never be sent crowd the inbox - white envelopes, red or black the same, message trains going nowhere except the flame - intricacies of anger - the minute delicacies of disdain flooded ink overrunning mountainous epitaphs because it is impolite to question the absent reader but euphoric to ignite the writer with all the tragedies descending from the top of the page concerning
Dear Darling,
Best wishes
Sincerely,
Yours.

This is the nature of love
To be overwhelmed but never spent
Obstructed but not to prevent the glorious tumbling Down down down the rabbit hole  of halfwaking dreams where I first saw you like the sun too bright to stare direct
But when I look at you I see
The past present and future overlaid in watercolors - the snapshot from a childhood over-exposed but ever familiar.