Colossal grey feet stride forth, Northbound,
Conquering the jungle’s labyrinth,
Leading her herd.
A young boy, whose name means Enlightenment,
Sits in awe, quiet and close,
Watching her. Each step, gracefully slow
But deliberate.
She has much to teach me, Ahren wonders,
This holy beast, an animalistic embodiment of
The perfect disciple and
My own Spirit guide.
He walks in silence, hidden in the endless green.
Two dozen female elephants follow
Their master obediently
And loyally.
Hearing her call, they destroy any and all
Which stands in their way, trusting the leadership
Of the matriarch.
She knows the way, has travelled this path
Many times before, recalling past dangers, never
Treading twice.
An unexplainable knowing is
Felt by all her kind.
Tiny eyes fill with wisdom of all she has seen,
While enormous ears listen intently,
Unselfish and kind,
Hearing always the messages
Of their family.
Ahren observes this animal on his path towards
Understanding. She is gentle, yet fears nothing, save
The pain of others.
I must learn to see through the eyes of Spirit,
And listen more than I speak, moving carefully
Down the path.
In this life it is my task to warn others of dangers encountered,
To overcome any obstacles received on my Human journey,
Heeding my master’s call.
He watches as the herd reaches a clearing.
They form a circle, surrounding the bones of
A fallen family member.
The vibratory funeral call sounds faintly.
Using her trunk, the matriarch pats the carcass,
Quietly saying goodbye.
Ahren cries with the elephants, feeling the loss
As if it was his own.

I call you 7 times,
It’s my lucky number, wishing you’ll pick up this time
It keeps ringing, and I can see the shadows of doubt reaching for me, crossing the fine line
You finally pick it up; I heave a sigh that I didn’t know I was holding
I tentatively ask if your free, my heart flutters against my chest
In can hear you say “I’m not, I’ll call you later?” its question, uncertainty clouding your sharp voice
I wait endlessly, like a lover patiently waiting for him to return safely from Afghanistan,
He never does, she never calls. And so the night falls.
A sharp blow against my rib cage, desperate reminder that I’ll never have it back
Hopelessness has replaced the bone marrow, in my carved bones
You carved my bones, inscribing your smile in it with the Swiss knife I believed you kept under
                                                           ­                                                                 ­your pillow, like my heart
it’s my fault, my eyes not very telescopic, wanted the golden sun, they didn’t tell me it’s a fireball
I hung expectations from the empire state, you have permanent ache in your legs,
You gave up the idea of the view, I don’t blame you
Old friend, I won’t call you 8th time, my bones have started singing in your absence
I’ll take this as my queue to escape, for I never wanted to be a verse, I wanted to be the chorus.

The sky is about to make you a liar
because
to the moon and back
is utterly impossible.
I still believe you
even if the universe never did.

And danger was closer and closer with each passing moon
but anyway
we turned to stargazing.
But even the stars fall from the sky
and no dream of mine could make you love me;
Or you for that matter
but I do
I love you.

You look good in blue,
it imitates my eyes
which mirrors my heart
that is yours
forevermore.

I weaved something beautiful for us both
but life is not a loom.
Its a series of complex embroideries
and our patterns never
matched.

At least you're honest,
that's something I've never been much good at.

weather splinters in
      to fragments, repeating, like
          dense recollections of
what's already
    happened,
                 and
change dissolves indefinitely,
                      into all
streambeds, like        calcium
cycles              backwards out
               of my diet
these days and lately
         of course, being I, the mess,
am not
or ever
                     doing anything to fix this,
                                     and it's
               not like I don't need the
                sustenance, like
                                            all
warm               confusions
              you so graciously
                      endow upon my
                                    life.

The smoke from your lips rises as if it wants to reach the stars
But is abruptly denied by the roof of the porch.
The pattern of raindrops
Is playing a song that only your ears recognize.
You stare into the kitchen but no longer see it as it is
But instead as what it once was.
Nothing seems as good as how it used to be.
It's raining harder now and you just want to lay on the grass
Hoping that one day you will bloom as beautifully as the lilacs you are under.
You close your eyes and suddenly she appears
The beautiful bohemian in the long, flowing skirt
With hair that the sun has kissed so lovingly.
She smiles and suddenly you are running through daisies
Laughing and living without a care.
Everything is wonderful.
Your endorphins start to kick in as you're chased amongst the flowers
You think to yourself, you could do this forever
But would you really want to?
It fades to black and despite all your pleas
The woman, she doesn't return
Rather you are left with raindrops dancing on your eyelids
And an ever-so-faint whisper in your ear
That you are never alone.

it's like
early season, leaves out
on the low twined branches
with the thought of
    you like
so many cabbage moths
(small white, actually
butterflies)
                       (moths are better anyway)
flittering
fo

r one moment I
say
"you are beautiful" th

e
breeze carries your
white laced wings to my
soft cotton, the canvas I
spread over my
winter-long
in sec ur i ties, 'cause I'm
still like
when I was sev en teen and
believed and believe
you'd never
really
want
b
roken
little
sad
little

me

anyway. and the
air comes in
from the northeast and
you-
-starry eyed-
-dance away, like a
soft
spring laugh.

"I see your hair is burning
Hills are filled with fire
If they say I never loved you
You know they are a liar"
  -Jim Morrison

I used to be a girl who had very close relationships with eccentric women who talked to themselves & sang to kitty cats, birds, dogs, & who sometimes got cranky with squirrels who climbed into birdhouses. Women who had laughter follow them wherever they went. Who teased me but never made fun of me. Women who were much older than me, came into my life at various times, who moved in & out of it, fluctuating in immediacy but always loving me totally, always keeping in touch, never a hateful or spiteful glance. Women who saw me not as something to deal with, but something to help. I wasn't a chore. They were people who introduced me to things, included me in everything. Women who lent me books. Who played battleship, scrabble, cards, word games, catch, and pranks with me. Who invited me to watch movies, cook supper, pile wood, play in the sandbox or garden, walk on the beach with them. Women who spent time talking to me & doing things with me; both focusing on who I was & who I would be at once. Women who were grams & aunts & adopted family and who were not my mother.