The deep woods that linger on the mountain hill
With open palms that beckon and hold
As I move across its glades of gold and jade
As the hidden bridge squeaks beneath my weight
The pines beginning to close in on the space
That was the path, crumbling into mossy lace

In that moment, it was barely visible
The red steeple of the city temple
Peeking gently through the canopy of leaves
But as the wind blew and the woodlands breathed
And the fairies of the river bank sang
The warm hand against my back began to lead me away

I ate the cake,
        the lemonade
Cool and sweet
        but left the pain
In the back of my throat
        like an aftertaste

The nymph steals glances from behind the glass
Bright blue, sharpened stare
Between bushes, amidst the grass

Fingers so nimble, they slipped through the cracks
Slid down the molding,
Dyed the carpet, stained the cat

Her smirk lived within speckles of paint
The hush of the floorboards
Breath that made the fruit a sickening sweet

But only in afterimages do I see her face
A late night mirage
In the bathroom, in the closet, in the eggs

In the sticky, wiry ink in which she'd signed her name
Her ghostly whispers calling out
From behind trickles of rain

A permanent spot in the recess of the window frame
Did she lay, nuzzled close
Silently, to wonder, watch and wait

A forever presence even the wind cannot displace
Only one day had she entered
But a thousand she'll stay

The sands of time rest deeply between my toes
The night sky unchanged, even as I step into the next day
A shooting star in my world, taking a lifetime of breathes just to cross the sky
But you were one that shouldn't have existed within my space
A supernova in a place of long days and low tide

You found me, kissed me, begged me and left me
before the tear could even leave my eye.
With such force, you sped past like a rushing wind
Leaving my hair torn across my face in the wake of your absence
And my hands shivering out of lack of warmth that I don’t remember having known

Should I apologize for not being able to match your passionate pace of life,
Or resent the cosmos for letting two very different beings cross paths?
Still I hope that my voice reaches you,
journeying many years in the swirls of space, till it whispers in your ear

I want you to know that I am as I always was,
traversing the shore, watching the stars
though my gaze searches a bit harder than before
In hopes that a ghostly glimmer of your presence still lingers

Those who don't feel the Earth turn like I do,
How sweet is their slumber?
Unknowing, unable to see the stars that are falling
But I could not, could never not,
Know the **** of gravity that pulls me under

My heart speaks,
Through constellations
In the popcorn ceiling
"You ask too many questions",
It says

The Magpie dies in Act No. V
Though the audience was hardly privy
It was only me, in the backrow seat,
Who saw the gentle feather
Who heard the silent clink
Its branch that swayed bare
Shivering only but a moment
Before it found a new pair of feet

The roar of the crowd rippled and swelled
With the song of the main headline
Licking the tune, wetting the eyes, but at the end
My lashes remained dry
For I, at least, could spare a glance
Toward the soul who belted Act I through V
Laid angled below the plastic bushes
Gone, dead, died

The night moon catches in the spin of my umbrella,
Running light down the ribs,
Dripping off its fingertips and
Vanishing into the slick concrete,
Shimmering with reds and greens
Of passerby and walk-signs
Blurred bags and t-shirts that push past
the pair of shoes frozen on the edge of the curb
The spot there beside me
The reason my hands burn white in grip
Since when?
Did my shoulder no longer feel the drip of rain
Since when?
Had the puddles' glint ceased to hold your face
Since when?
Was there, beside me,
A space

Heaven, you have left me.
I learned it from your silent words,
Knew it when I saw no stars
That I had jumped from hands that held me
And leapt into unending dark

Fool, you are

Tangled twisted heart,
Tumbled down the road,
Like a scrappy skein of yarn

Knew to ride the gutter's trails,
To weave past boots that stomped and sneered,
Huddle in the cold, hide during hail

Stolen away its many days with the trash and weeds,
By rough desert winds, past red dust clouds,
Snagged and snipped on spindly trees

And with a thud, it hit at once, the ground,
When, with its last exhale, the wind withdrew
That I, left between terracotta clay rocks and budding anthill mounds,
At last looked up and saw, a sky so exceptionally blue

A stranger stopped by,
Asked how things were going
Simply put, the sun seems just as golden
The road glides easy as we drive into the next day,
The ocean breeze's just as sweet as the smiles on our face
There are no wounds, no tears
And yet, my world has shifted a few degrees
For it is the small scratch that forever bleeds
That pulls at one's existence like weeds
It's the ghost that lingers in the peripherals
It's the gasp, before the light switch is flicked on
With the lamp that swings alone, above what is truly gone
It's the wave of laughter that lacks its fourth part harmony
And it's the forgotten Christmas dinner seat.

When I was a girl
I thought I could be anything I wanted
I didn’t realize I would grow up
To be a woman
That I was forever ‘and her’
Instead of them
That my father loved me
As an exception
And I would have to witness my sisters
Wither away in happiness
I found out that I was not the ‘public’
In public transportation
That I needed to switch my grocery run times
Every now and then
Discovered the places where a hat
Could be the best weapon
On Sundays, I dress up and buy pretty roses for my table
To keep from remembering that
If someone wanted
There was nothing I could do to stop them

Once there was a mountain
Atop which lived a tree
Her swaying arms full with oranges and greens
She loved the mountain god
Who trailed her shores
Watched him light rainbows in the skies,
Freeze waters at nights,
And on occasion, rest under flits of sunlight
That drifted through her leaves

My honest concern goes to Mother Nature
For she proves as fickle as I
A late September with the winds of December,
A truly wicked surprise

But she has my understanding not scolding
For too many times have I,
Taken what was once a peaceful October
And scorched it with the fires of July

Sometimes I dream of wondrous things,
That flood the room with roaring waves
And cool deep waters of the mighty seas

Neon fish now nest in my kitchen sink
Eels dance along the dining table
From my mouth rise bubbles of blue and green

But other times the ocean spins away down the bathroom drain
Leaving a bristling heat, a cloudless sky
And desert winds that rough up the window panes

Oranges of fire, deep breath of life fire
Leaving spittles of burn on the tips of my nose
As I now travel along the sands, a caravan rider

There are things I dream,
Dreams of such wondrous things
Of colors gold, red and aquamarine

Of dazzling lights that drip from the walls
Soaked deeply into the cupboard,
Filled to the brim, all the halls

Like jewels, the dreams sparkle with life
So unexpected each time sunlight hits my eyes
That all I wake up to, is again
just white

I wish to forget the taste of fruit dipped in honey,
For it was far too sweet
I wish to forget the touch of the sun as it caressed my hand,
For it was far too warm
I wish to forget the sight of Autumn trees showering us in gold,
For it was far too dazzling
I wish to forget all the days spent with you,
For they were far too few