I walk along the vaulting cliffs,
My mind is open, a clear horizon,
In passing breeze, I smell her hair,
I must get home, dark clouds arriving.

I want to be held
The way a dying hand
Holds a crucifix

I want someone to look into my eyes
The way a captain
Looks at a compass

Flittering feathers write sonnets
in soaring frequencies;
taking in the ocean at once,
I felt ripples brought to standstill,
damped by second's refrain,
curled back into the
picturesque blue written ahead,
but
no cloud harbours the ceiling,
no late words shown, jotted down
by the
indifferent and
invariably disappearing breeze.

The latterwork of these days took it up,
and hung it out
on lines stretched across skies and time,
betraying tender surfeit, in moments
torn out,
and,
leaving only
vague traces of
woodworn prose,
spilling out my last sentiments:

"we, once,
were alive,
if only for a moment."

In dreams she holds small collections
of sandy flowers,
above the shoreline,
as the dichotomous cluster takes theirs,
behind a fragmentary grain
in the blacksmith's hide;
written, again, are those seasick letters,
wrung out
in the dead heat of the forge,
the demands of strangers,
in stone buildings by the fireplace,
electric heater, off,
the inbetween reeling
of slightened accomplishments,
the scent of oil,
left over, from the husk of noon.

Miss and want, over again,
missing beguilement in afternoon's repose.

"come back...",
but she ain't the one gone.

Sun-dried moss
hangs in clumps
from the eaves trough.
Morning dew glittering
in the dawn.
The floorboards,
covered in peeling
gray-blue paint,
crackle and creak
beneath my bare feet.

My joints feel rusted,
and my eyes don’t see
as far as they did before.
Before all that happened
happened.  
My hand on the doorframe
is alien to me.
But it moves when I ask,
so it will have to do.

I stagger through
the warm porch,
where a soft,
sweet-smelling breeze
drifts in through
torn metal screens
and cracks in the
rickety door.
I open it as quietly
as I can.
There is only me here,
but I like the quiet.

Three wooden steps
down to a gravel drive
that passes side to side
out front.  
Bare feet,
too well-worn to
feel the stones,
tip-toe across
to the rough,
brown-green grass.  
My feet are wet
now, and
when they find
the sand just beyond
the patch of grass,
it clings.
I scrunch up my toes,
digging, until I find
the cool, dry
layer below.

The lake is clear,
and the soft rustle
through the pine trees
along the shore
reminds me again of years
gone by.
Sticky fingers,
covered in sap,
pine needles sticking
between my toes,
and scrapes on my shins
that hurt back then,
but sing sweetly in my memory.

I sit on the little beach
between the trees,
crossing my legs,
and plunge my hands
beneath the sand.
Peace.

And what a joy,
to be here
and feel it
in the coarse sand,
the cool caress of morning breeze,
and the utter
silence of the still lake.  

Have I come so far,
to wish for so little?
Have I lost something
along my way?
The anger has faded,
and in its place
sits a quiet resolve.
The games they play,
I’ve long since lost,
but finding myself here,
I wonder if I’ve not
come out ahead.

The water calls to me.
I may visit her soon,
once I’ve had my fill
of sand.  
The wind grows bolder,
and the pines whistle.
A loon calls out,
somewhere unseen.
I wonder if today I’ll
climb that same tree
from so long ago.
Wonder if it has held
its form better than I,
and which may break
a limb first.

I smile,
because I know
it’s foolish,
and the beach is so
soft beneath me.
Warm and yielding.
But oh,
the sweet,
stinging memories.

I remember you,
when the darkness comes.
The prettiest, blackest,
most bottomless eyes
I’ve ever seen.
The shy smile that tugged
at your lips,
and the tender kiss that followed
haunt me like ghosts that laugh
like breaking glass
while I sleep.
You closed your eyes when
I kissed your forehead.
Before I let myself say the words,
that was how I told you
I loved you.

When the darkness comes,
my hands still feel the warm
curves of your body,
your soft dark hair against
my neck,
and your head nestled against my shoulder.
The fire inside dimmed,
and in your arms a calm
took its place.
You squeezed tighter as I held you,
and I loved you more every time.

The words did not come easily,
but truly,
and when I whisper them to
all these empty places,
they echo like rain on the rooftops.
In the dark, I swear to you,
and pray for day.

Your smile was never easy to find,
you hide it well.
I never minded,
because I’ve been told the same.
And because I knew
that when I found it
I had earned the light in your eyes,
and the music of your laugh.
I was special then.
And so were we.

But lies burn more deeply
than the deepest love.
I was always yours.
You were never mine.

I left the day I knew
you would never stay.
I wanted to ask you to come with me.
I wanted you to ask me to take you.
The silent sadness in your eyes
and the weakness in your embrace
told me I was already gone.
I held you tighter that last night,
then watched you walk away.
You never looked back,
and that was when I finally
let myself cry.

The days are quiet now.
Trains pass by, and
you’re never on them.
The sun shines on,
and everyone here goes on
as if nothing ever happened.
They don’t know what I’ve lost.
I die in silence.

When I saw you last,
you were in his arms.
Your laugh made me smile,
even as I fought back the tears.
I watched him kiss you,
and saw the light in your eyes,
the ease of your smile.
I saw you in love.
And when your gaze
flickered to me,
I saw a stranger.

And I wonder now,
when the darkness comes,
when you looked into my eyes,
who did you see?