then hers*
                   are windows made of
                                                        ice,
              glistening with wetness melting in the
                                                             ­         sun


opening her eyes for the first time in the morning,


her soft brown lashes brush against her
                                                             ­        lids
with the softness of
              a *fresh fallen snow canopy bed
                             made just for her

When she looks at you              (remember to breathe)


(it's like she can see all of your mistakes, everything you hate about yourself)



you feel the world
grow hazy around her
the ground falls away
from under your feet

But her eyes are windows
that let all the weather in (leaving her cold&wet;)

if you stare into them long enough,

                                        you'll see the storm

                                                          ­                inside

The cut is yet deep.

Standing in the crowd holding her hopes like a child with a balloon
the rain wet street mirrored on her cheek
she sees only ghosts and memories around her.
Her soul contorts and twists under the weight of her loss
weeping for that which was
and faded dreams lie in litter at her feet.

Shadowy solace hovers impotently
loath to approach lest he be burned in her cold fire.
Her thoughts hang in strands:
"O, fountain blood be my salve
for hollow loneliness is my home"
Unheard, unheeded, unreleased
they echo and play across her mind in metallic tones.

And the cut is yet deep.

Pain sings in her heart
marking her world with it's dissonant pallette.
Bright and brittle, with a lover's hunger
offering a seductive embrace she can no longer resist.
Siezing to it's sharpness and brilliance like a keepsake
she draws it to her willingly
and loves it.

But hers is not the step, the end, the sleep.
"I am queen here" she cries to an unknowing world
"Heed me, for I shine"
and shaking off the woe she turns from the path.
Fierce Nike takes her hand and leads her forward,
onward to a new beginning, a new season, a new hope.
For yes, the cut is yet deep
but cuts will heal with gentle touch
and even scars may fade in the sun.

Standing on the shaking edge
the jumper gazes at the beckoning plunge
tilted on indecision

with racing heart he gropes forlornly
for the hope and light he means to leave
reaching into it for a reason

inches bring him closer to the step
the hardest last too hard to take
breath crushed by knowledge

the void pulls him and with a keening cry
the balance tips and he's free
and air screams past him with taunting voice

the fall stretches his withered soul
and trailing his despair like smoke
he grows ever closer to his decision

the end comes with thunder and pain
and in the final moments he looks up at billowing silk
with something approaching love.

Leaves stripped bare,
The clump of a nest
Now so obvious, but since abandoned
Past residents won't care.
This morn, winter flavored branches
Sweet confections that beckoned.
Black in twilight, the silhouettes
Look again as barren,
Swaying spindly fingers
And counting stars
Which today seem so far.
Once I reached up and plucked
Those winking sparkles to sprinkle
A pillow I shared,
Though glowing duller amid dreams
That shined in young eyes.
Their beams became beacons,
Joining hearts across oceans
So that distance wouldn't matter.
It was in absence dread fate dared,
Soon setting ancient lights to falter,
Dimming, dying through time's haze.
Oh, how long ago did I last gaze
Upon exciting skies as this!
Certain of the hopes and promise
Avowed within those sparks held.
T'was briefest of life's moments,
Most rare and intense,
Never again finding its day
Save in ambush of memory
On a night like this
When wind blows bitter and swift.
Brilliance still dances, but ever so far away

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

Well, my daddy left home when I was three,
and he didn't leave much to Ma and me,
just this old guitar and a bottle of *****.
Now I don't blame him because he run and hid,
but the meanest thing that he ever did was
before he left he went and named me Sue.

Well, he must have thought it was quite a joke,
and it got lots of laughs from a lot of folks,
it seems I had to fight my whole life through.
Some gal would giggle and I'd get red
and some guy would laugh and I'd bust his head,
I tell you, life ain't easy for a boy named Sue.

Well, I grew up quick and I grew up mean.
My fist got hard and my wits got keen.
Roamed from town to town to hide my shame,
but I made me a vow to the moon and the stars,
I'd search the ***** tonks and bars and ****
that man that gave me that awful name.

But it was Gatlinburg in mid July and I had
just hit town and my throat was dry.
I'd thought i'd stop and have myself a brew.
At an old saloon in a street of mud
and at a table dealing stud sat the *****,
mangy dog that named me Sue.

Well, I knew that snake was my own sweet dad
from a worn-out picture that my mother had
and I knew the scar on his cheek and his evil eye.
He was big and bent and gray and old
and I looked at him and my blood ran cold,
and I said, "My name is Sue. How do you do?
Now you're gonna die." Yeah, that's what I told him.

Well, I hit him right between the eyes and he went down
but to my surprise he came up with a knife
and cut off a piece of my ear. But I busted a chair
right across his teeth. And we crashed through
the wall and into the street kicking and a-gouging
in the mud and the blood and the beer.

I tell you I've fought tougher men but I really can't remember when.
He kicked like a mule and bit like a crocodile.
I heard him laughin' and then I heard him cussin',
he went for his gun and I pulled mine first.
He stood there looking at me and I saw him smile.

And he said, "Son, this world is rough and if
a man's gonna make it, he's gotta be tough
and I knew I wouldn't be there to help you along.
So I gave you that name and I said 'Goodbye'.
I knew you'd have to get tough or die. And it's
that name that helped to make you strong."

Yeah, he said, "Now you have just fought one
helluva fight, and I know you hate me and you've
got the right to **** me now and I wouldn't blame you
if you do. But you ought to thank me
before I die for the gravel in your guts and the spit
in your eye because I'm the nut that named you Sue."
Yeah, what could I do? What could I do?

I got all choked up and I threw down my gun,
called him pa and he called me a son,
and I came away with a different point of view
and I think about him now and then.
Every time I tried, every time I win and if I
ever have a son I think I am gonna name him
Bill or George - anything but Sue.