Her voice when she whispers
Brings me back to childhood
Christmases, when shaking a
Present revealed the gut-tingling
Sound of LEGO inside.

Cover your nerves.
Stop picking at scars to
Make them wounds again,

Healing is the super in
Superficial.
Dry your tears when looking

Back; you'll see yesterday more
Clearly.
Bitterness is darkness to

The blind, grenade shrapnel
In the body of a brave one now
Fallen.

Stand up and smile at the light;
There are many enough who bask in
The blackness of their history.  

You've fought.
Bled.
Cried rainstorms and tidal waves,

Run your hands across the view of Heaven
From the bellies of Hell shivering.
It takes courage to fall,

Grace to fly.
So fly.
It's as easy as trying.

Birch tree's thousand little fingers wet with
Early May rain, mist kissed and still.

I know you wish I'd miss you more when
I'm here, but I'm a man of focus mastered.

For now I'll keep my eyes drinking from out
My north wall window,

This view.
These trees and humble hills,

Not even shaking from the force of
A full day's rain.

I don't miss.
Sometimes my hand reminds me of

The weight and warmth of yours in it,
And I lean back knowing you're just as

Mine as when we're touching.
I trust love.

I trust love, the way the birch trees
Trust the skies with their thirst,

The grounds with their hunger,
And my eyes to behold their majestic,

Confident
Beauty.

Body hurts from last night's wine and
This morning's lifting.
Hands shake, sounds of construction
Like an insane symphony of
Unsilence.

My limbs are the fingers of a clenched
Fist around the hope that
The hours may grow wings.
The city, a snail outside
The construction site fence.

We're both prisoners under a
Sky that's waiting to downpour,
Giving each other nervous looks
Through iron bars, smiling
Unwillingly with tears in our eyes,

To immitate consolement.
Today, a line has been drawn between
The world and its enemy,
Of which I'm on the wrong side.
This is how I die;

A drowned flower.
A bleeding scar. An
Exposed nerve in the rain.
At least I have the wine.
Without it, I'd never get this thirsty.

Spring Morning.
Your sun is warm, but your
Breeze remembers winter;

Your touch is that of a young
Woman who thinks she might
Be in love.

One hand mild,
One cold, and your heart
Slightly off center.

I understand.
A long line of yesterdays
Lead you here.
So you compare,

And call upon
Rainy summers and fierce
Winters to stain
Today with the pain

Of last love lost.
Last fallen friend.
Pulling the fabric of hope apart
To fit your heart.

Place it among the new born
Lights of stars long since
Dead, instead. Learn
To shine, not burn.

The rays of sunrise
Are eight minutes old.
Arise. Be bright.
Give the morning its light.
All that awaits to glitter
Is gold.

How ****** it is,* is all
I ever hear about
Things.

So polish the ****.
Put make-up on the
Pig.

On every piece of space-junk
There is a thin film of
Astronaut's

Business,
They tell me.
So look past it.

We're all
Partly
Soil;  

There's crap in everything.
Focus on what isn't.
The Devil's in the

Details, so I suppose
God is in the
Rest.

Show me a sunset.
And don't point
Out

The
Dying
Light.

Or the lack of
Poetry on
A blank

Page. The paper had
Nothing to do with
It,

Nor the night skies with how
The sun came
And

Ruined
It
All.