old bayonet--
I wonder if one touched
my grandfather's body

My hands are cold, too cold
the wind burning my nose,
as it pushes me across the road,
hitting me with the reality
that I'm not there where the sun is

Numbers jump out at me
Splashing my face
with their significance

Buses meeting trains and hotel rooms

...you never did leave, did you?

It was I who left.

Hours, numbers
Days, years
A decade and 3 years
and this is the first
but hopefully the last

Magnified void that clenches me

I get lost most times
but those numbers again,
Always coming up to remind me...

reflective tears
as the clock ticks past
to the past

and I am left with my hands
on my face and the clock's face

Trembling fingers touching keys

Chilled by so many reasons--
Emptied by the sighing seasons

I remind myself to smile,
amidst these blurry letters

Your laughter
resonating in my heart

Never leaving me

Dotted brush strokes
fill the air,
arresting me

All I do is stare,
yearning to be
on higher ground
Yet all I have is concrete

I walk to where
grass meets the worm
and look up at the s.weeping sky
delicate golden light facing me

The variegated rose catches my eye,
Yet escapes my lenses...
capturing mulberries instead
Mosquitoes feed upon me
and I let them

"Revel in this", my soul says
"It's been too long since you last
saved moments for your spirit."

sometimes
It is good to just be
like the mullberry

To darken as it ripens,
to fall,
possibly leaving stains
Yet can also feed the earth,
to grow...
then reach upwards
to touch
those brush-stroked clouds.

close my eyes
think of myself
being there

to where
screams
are free to roam,
then bounce back,
immune to tortured souls

allowed to spread
in       wa     e
                 v     s

for some reason,
Ararat comes to mind
right now
but to be honest,
Arayat would suffice

surrender...
surrender,
surrender

                   all these rocks

Can
I
disturb you?

Even just this once...

let me
let out
my

sanctioned screaming,
and release it to these mountains.