Stir...stir around the last of the winter leafs
and rest one at my feet.
It is here, in the dark of morning that everything is raw and truly seen.
It is hard to believe that anything exists beyond this,
silenced reality, nocturnal bliss.
Living in the head becomes living outside,
till the sun comes up and draws up the blinds.
My soul dies a tiny death;
daylight takes a glorious breath
and I wait.
Even though always in time,  
almost always too late.   
A mirror to the sky,
another beautiful mistake.  
A sigh that screams
like broken dreams -
 'That’s what I’ll do if that’s what it takes'
Not totally alive,
but afraid I might die of all the suppressed why’s. 
The haunting roads not taken...
I must have been mistaken...
maybe not...
once or twice
but I couldn’t find my mind!
It's always been here,
at times a little hazy inside...
saved usually by the light of moon;
crystal clarity in a coin shaped cocoon.