I saw you,
i saw you dear
hazel eyes they were
in their beauty i stood

but i looked away
and they left me there
standing in the ocean air

gusts of thoughts
and waves of knowing.,
chasing me back and forth
soaking the soles of my shoes
and holding my shirt
up to the moon

offering all i had
pockets empty, take what back?
nothing to give an ageless comfort
living among the stars

there's little here
no stories to heed
no sage advice hidden
in this stripped down
voice, noise, sound,
nothing worthy of want
or success to envy

there's only a desire
to find something

hand it over, into the gifted
unknown,
fingers unbending and needing
a small possession
of emotion,
appreciation,
presence

to fill the absence
cratered on its own

kept alone in a memory
guarded by time
and the constant belief
normal is as normal does

straight lines and ordinary minds
run wild with the times
dressed to the nines
to feed the eyes
clean, manufactured lies

look away and you forget
how to be a white lie.

He falls asleep when his hand stops shaking;
There’s another soul on the street tonight.

His life was never made, it’s in the making;
There’s another soul on the street tonight.

He’s abused, re-used, begged and been refused;
There’s another soul on the street tonight.

Reality needed another victim to be excused;
There’s another soul on the street tonight.

He greets the same morning sun as you;
There’s another soul on the street tonight.

But darkness falls a little harder when light never shines through;
There’s another soul on the street tonight.

There’s always a time for something, a place for something, a feel for what
something is, what something isn’t or will be or won’t be, or
what it might’ve been since it never really was much more than a pay it forward,
but I could tell that wasn’t a hollow ‘good morning’, because I held the door for a reason,
one larger than an excuse, a reason deeper than the diving end, louder than the traffic, the chorus of car horns, conversations and noise variations, behind me;
a reason better than I am myself, a reason beyond bettering myself, a reason
because I am myself and you are you and from what I noticed you had your hands full, and maybe I just wanted an excuse after all, to say
‘Good morning.’

Your mid-lip drops,
the ends slide, raise,
revealing
an off-white bridgework
only seen
when on the heels of a smile.

Your curtains fall
embracing upper cheek with
innocent, open arms,
wrapping
themselves in the wrinkles
from times before,
when on the heels of a smile.

Your hazel aroma
scintillates through
a squinted discovery
seizing
a moment of divine pleasure,
when on the heels of a smile.

When on the heels of a smile
a broken, off-balance
appearance, binds metrical
pieces with a brush stroke,
creating a single wrinkle.

Whatever’s
down there
can’t find me
on the top step.
Can’t touch me on
my stoop. I bounce tennis
***** here till they clip a
step an roll, missing every other
on its way to where it smells really
good but things are lost.  Must, detergent,
and a little bit of something else races through
innocent nostrils who could tell you all about cut
grass and baseball fields, leaf piles and orange juice,
oatmeal cookies and sunday dinners, but nothing about down
there.  Besides every night at eight when the noise calls my mom
downstairs, far past my stoop, she returns with The things I lost.
And a pile of warm, warm clothes smelling of must, detergent and a little
something else.