I looked down today,
down past the cracks
in the sidewalk,
into a clear sheet of water
unmarked by time
and I saw you.
It sounds so poetic,
but it's true;
the chance to speak your name
and give life to the past-
it felt natural, and
comfortable
in a way that scared me,
settled there among the new snow
and the crowded room of strangers.
Your smile, just the idea
that I should defend you,
every imperfection
within which fault could be found
was laid down before me
and trust me, I know
how to look past each twisted corner
and make the edges fit
and see you there before me
as if you'd never folded yourself
in the first place.
Unbend, I want to say,
unfold your wings and fly
into today.

his eyes were blurred, half open
and constantly shifting, his mouth
a soft **** along his chin, his hand
twisting among the grey, wiry curls on his head
and with one arm along the seat behind him
he slouched, facing the doors
like an uncomfortable silence
like an awkward comment
like someone who didn’t belong
and yet i could see that he did
there on the bus at one in the morning
this man was at home, as he tried
to make eye contact with me and i turned
to the window instead
and the woman behind him moved
to the back of the bus as soon as she could
to escape his wayward, grasping fingers
and i felt pity for him
grey, gasping pity
pity that made my eyes travel back and forth
between the window and indoors
as, inexplicably, i tried to capture
the creature sitting there
and i watched his feet shift
as the bus rocked beneath us and somehow
i saw the world from his eyes, the shady seats
and the angular, beautiful people
each one passing him by
hands gripping the posts and avoiding his gaze
and his mind was swimming in amber liquid
i knew that, i saw it
plain as day, this man was drunk
and though when he met my eyes
my brow was furrowed, my face uninviting
inside, i felt that same aching pity
and i thought ****, i’ll make poetry
from this somehow
and perhaps the words are simple
but i’m sure it’s the first time
that anybody has ever put that man
down on a piece of paper
in full colour

as the white moon roared over the mountains
and the black sky slid down toward the sea
my silent footsteps screamed the words at me
a violent sunrise is on the way
and nature's never been
more dear to me
than now
i answered back, threw my thoughts
across the sand
and shattered them on the horizon
watched them fall among the trees near shore
and heard the roots beneath me rustle
foreign land shifted around me
and here, hours from home
i felt glorious and alone
as the blue sun rose up from the water
and the waves crashed down at my feet
and the violent sunrise was over
leaving daylight
clear skies
and me

The idea of the midnight hour
is an image,
a feeling,
a scent and a sound
that has always consumed me;
even before I could stay up this late.
And now I realize
that the midnight hour is not one,
not two hours, not three,
but the whole night,
and I am driven to defeat it
breath by breath
and minute by minute
and hour by silent, screaming hour
until the midnight train has run its course
and I roll into the station, victorious
knowing that the idea
of the midnight hour
is not an image,
a feeling,
a scent and a sound;
it's a lifetime of silence
and when it comes around
I'm afraid, but determined
to live this one out
and prove to myself that the sunshine
comes from somewhere.

press inward
shift forward
your shoulder, again
soft contact
hard impact
and i turn to face you
fleeting eye contact swims
in the air between us
and i refuse to catch it
i will not take hold of this feeling
i will not go fishing
for the truth

look backward
move outward
and i use these days gone by
to excuse
and recycle
the words that occupy my mind
glowing eye contact swims
in the space between us
and i refuse to reach out and touch it
i will not take hold of this feeling
i will not go fishing
for the truth

eye contact, slow smile
and the miles i have walked to get here
are melting beneath my feet
and down i go
dry ground swallowed by your voice
and i refuse to hear the meaning
of the cold air warming round our hands
i will not take hold of this feeling
i will not go fishing
for the truth

i will not take hold of this feeling
but for now, i will
take hold of you

once i was drunk for the first time
i wanted to be drunk all of the time
but thankfully
i was too broke
to be an alcoholic
that feeling didn't last long
anyways, so i guess i'm safe
got the money now to self-destruct
and yet i shy away
glad that when i felt that pull
i was too broke
to be an alcoholic

things i have learned so far
in university:
how to lie
and how to tell the truth
and how to walk the fine line
between the two
and come out with three words:

i miss you