There’s a rumbling a-coming
And yet I build my dreams from glass;
I hope you’ll peer through to find my face
Through the fancy, frosted, crystalline patterns.
You blew sparks into me that became novas;
Now they fuel my beaming eyes in the melt.
Watch as sands of time are blown into fragile fantasies
And yesterday’s memories twist their colors
Into improbable dragons and stars of tomorrows.
Glimpse me through my new frail fortress.
Keep watch as I hang tiny galaxies in the rafters.
These walls are your windows.
Use them well,
For the rumbling’s a-coming,
And I might need a savior
Who knows my dreaming face.

I’m cradling what’s left of the word “casual”
Because it sounds like “pretending”.
Maybe we should have said “casualty”
Because we both know the answers,
Or "causality"
As some ridiculous joke.

No, we can’t fall, we can’t fall.
When I giggled,
“Don’t get stuck on me,”
What I said was,
“I’m already stuck,
But we all have to move...
Right?"

Heard words on the radio driving home
That echoed like “coincidence”
I learned the words and echoed back
With no regard for context.

Crawling couch to bed,
Passing faces in the covers,
Say ‘hello’ my sometimes lover,
Say ‘goodbye’ and run away.
We can dance with one another,
Hold the truth until the day
When the sheets turn into clutter
And the miles casually splay.

I chose to look closer into him than most do

My discernment found worlds in him that most would not

I clung tightly to pages of mystery bound by him-ness

Grasping at tendrils of smoke and mirrors

Looking between our hands for a hidden universe.

And then

Quite suddenly

I saw him:

Just skin and words and memories

I’d simply been looking through

To find reflections of myself

There was a time when I sang on you forlornly,
So wistfully heraldic,
That I might have thought you worthy
Of a gilded biblical throne of purple-prosed petals.
Let us be grateful then, for the song of perihelion,
And the whispered wisdoms of the dear tropics,
For the fresh breath from these friends whisks me
Back to my wakening, aurelian self.
I weave the holly in my hair,
I hang the mistletoe anew,
For solitary trees stand strong,
Though weighted by the winter’s dew.
I am Helios’s rantipole
I’ve no more time for tears of old,
With so much in me left to grow,
And so far in me left to go.

The thing is, you can’t ignore that graceful lament-
The teal heaving of your chest-
The wash of questions in your head
That exquisitely hold pinpricks of the future.

There’s a brand of groan you know well
That belongs to feeling unresolved.
That noise you make when you’re a painting without a face,
When you’re two lines of a song that’s lost to the breeze,
When you’re a cup of water dribbling through careless hands,
That noise is the growl of restless dreaming.

There is a struggle to unpin yourself
From the avalanche of time
That has pooled thickly around your legs.
You try to kick, but it moves like molasses.
Slower than a hard thwack to a non-newtonian fluid.
Pointless as collecting antique doorknobs.

There is an urge to catch a destiny by the tail
Like you’re somehow prepared right now,
Like there’s nothing left to learn.
How fortunate you are that perceived linear realities
Can curve the hubris of your linear fantasies.

And yet there’s that gnawing need,
A craving that demands surrender,
That all too graceful lament,
Of being forced to take the smallest of steps
on the greatest of adventures.

He is in love with questions
And the lilting world of words,
With the fabric of philosophy
And the taste of fresh ideas.

He is in love with the smell of green
And the shifting sands of dreams,
With the hunt for profound moments
And the hunger-lust for purpose.

He is in love with his books
And the zodiacs cross the planet,
With patterns of chain reactions
And the way we cog and gear.

He is in love with pools of stardust
And fanciful notions of theory,
With darkness, deep and coveted
And the fabric it is made from.

He is in love with one who left
And the poisoned past he bathes in,
With being perpetually lonesome
And floating twixt life’s sabulous banks.

He is in love with memories, and the universe,
And nobody else.

With my choking heart, I’m grasping at dust,
And I am in love with him.