1.
The scent;  amber
The color; pine
The touch; echos
The sound; blind
They are
All
of the senses
Intertwined.

2.
Sweet Robin, alight... takes to wing
Bruce's laughter, a booming thing.
Mark serenades, Michelle My Belle
Rog recants exploring tells
Scott japes, and keith's ad libs
Karen oh Karen,   heaven forbid!

Artists Dreamers Escapists Poets.
Jesters Lovers Genius Knowers.
Alarmists minimalists
Extroverted introverts
Fighters flighters
Together
Loners

What I have now, I have in abundance
I have it to give to you...
Untethered to any intention
I have it.
For you.
It is yours.
And know it was what I intended for you all along.
Safety, comfort, stability....even sanity
It is yours.

I hold it up
Open, raw, a gift from God or the Universe, to me ...to you.
Its real, with the depth and weight of its promise.
I'm keeping it here for you,...exposed
Subject to regection from  "before"
Its ok, It is mine to freely give to  you
If you will have it,
If you will have me.

The acceptance of me "after"
Would be the greatest gift....
But there is the intention...It is there after all.
The basis of my intention, it is simply the need
for forgiveness.
For your love.
And My love to you.

It seems as if the recipient has shifted
From you, to me...
But really, It is interchangeable
"after" is something to be shared.

"After" is the gift....the one that brought your sister.
With "after" there came a knowing....
A knowing that I had been wrong, broken.
Broken like you said you are now.
The gift can fix it...."After" is surely the cure
For all broken things.

I need you to know there was a place that preceeded "before"
It was " the begining" it was you.

allow me to apologize
on behalf of the love
i bear for you

the love I’ve left
behind the moon
behind the earth
within a shadow
in an umbra
and hidden from the sun

i want these whispers
to escape
from the person
i have buried
in a folded blanket
in the dust
in a fissure
of a scar
within my heart

i’ve been defeated
by my own fears
and self-resentment festers
in my consequential wounds

a gangrenous pathogen
threatening to mortify
what,
i don’t know
for i’ve kept my eyes closed
and my soul at a distance

but every morning
as i try to go to sleep
in spite of the sun
rising above

i think of me
as if i was not myself
and I think of you
and the things i should’ve done

i think of how
you looked right through
my painted face
and when i met your eyes
how my blind-fold fell away
less than a memory

i think of these moments
and remember
that i once knew the meaning
of peace