The snow it did not fall
only frost, thick as walls
creaking floors, a long hall
leading upward
where stars whispered
calling to the moon
from behind curtains,
branches and clouds

walking
no place today
in mind
thoughts reaching -
no tomorrows
to find

little daydream
a tune to be sung
life spinning
under autumn's sun

far off
meadow plains,  
cool wanes quiet falling sun
golden, reds
still hanging on

A place, nowhere to be,
no one am I
content beneath blue fields
of sky

Nights like this: where raindrops fall the size of pears
Thunder rings, like a call from above;
A cry from the gods who’ve not seen our love
On the ground we watch the skies, a show of our impending fears

As the clouds begin to clutter
As the gods begin to shudder
As we lay down for one perpetual wink
As the earth begins to tumble as the seas begin to sink,
     the world begins to think

As the rivers run red with blood
And the crops once in drought, flood
As Atlas’ shoulders start to shift
And the earth itself needs lift

As the waters must soon retreat
As we learn a fault no one will repeat
As we start to see the beginnings of ends
As we change our ways, as if to make amends

you had birds in your mouth and sunlight dripping from your eyelashes.
i promised i wouldn't speak if you wouldn't change faces twice an hour.
we made conversation under a tree and sleep-walked through your kitchen.
i couldn't stare for your poetry disguised as fingers, always moved your hands.

i opened your window and slid to the street, took a walk with the recycling.
my hands looked tired the next morning, and you wouldn't take no.
when the lights fell asleep, we ran for the boats and slipped into the water.
the moon smiled and pulled us apart, i never matched your shoes again.

All around me, the sky with its deep shade of dark.
The stars.

The moon with its shrunken soul.
Can I become what I want to become?

Neither wife or mother.
I am noone and nobody is my lover.

I am afraid
that when I go mad,
my father will bow his downy head
into his silver wings and weep.

My daughter, O my daughter.

singing a lullaby we
are rocking in a cradle spun
of liquid white straight
from the bottle wrapped up
in the darkness of the night until

we find ourselves in stillness

laid out on the damp shingles
                laughing
                at the clouded sky
because we know
that somewhere behind the blackened grey

the moon shines bigger and brighter
than it ever has before