The ocean waves are murmuring,
And some who walk the shore
May pause to hear some wisdom there,
And linger more and more.  

The seas are older than the old,
And jealous of regret.
Their murmurs wash out memory,
And make a soul forget.

Dour duty may seem cruel
To novices, but rasped
To callouses by some hair shirt,
Skin glories in its clasp.  

A rougher kiss is sweetest bliss
To scourged and toughened hides,
Until abraded to a scar
Where stunted dullness bides.

Words can wriggle through the cracks
Where grosser largeness blocks,
And even with no aperture
Huskless speech can seep through locks.

Life’s a very busy thing
And rushes by so fast,
And since inertia rules this world
It cannot help but last.  

Transactions plonk the daylight hours,
And revels blot the dark.
There is a grimy window near
That looks on a glum park.

His touch was
like sunlight on my skin
the sweeping skim of kelp across marbled coat
his webbed fingers tracking their rough edges
through the sand.
In the storm's howl he was calm
the chaos of waves in my belly slowed
an unearthly peace
of tide-pool eyes that stilled the seventh stream.  
The waves roll out and the waves roll in
and out my love rolls with them.
Seven tears shed at Spring tide
for love of a man
whose heart
is sea bound,
sealed.

Diadem of dreams keep him keen,
In the lost world we walk,
We debate the last Holocene,
Then we split, came the fork…

Lonesome fingers, slip emerald thread,
I stare yon window,
Knitting some spell, helps me forget,
Drink lavender tea to grow.

It tasted bitter in the Winter,
So sweet when in summer,
Lukewarm come last November,
I can’t drink it no more.    
  
They call me Lavender, loved ones,
You tried to debunk why,
Until you kissed me under the sun,
Love can make you so high.

The day you picked my last flower,
I was not a maiden,
You took from me ancient power,
My heart simply waned.

I took to the stars, took to the cards,
I became the Hierophant,
I looked to my sun, to my Mars,
To my Moon and Venus.

I’m imbued with the Crone’s wisdom,
With a new mindset so,
To understand conflicts new and old,
I’m healed, stronger, a Being of Amour.

Speak with me, drink flowery tea,
On the phone, speech may hurt,
Together, it’s ten times as sweet,
Call me, Lovely Lavender X

I’ve got some money and a swag and a gun – and my lover
My lover and I are on the run
We changed our hair, our clothes, our names, we’re undiscovered
But she cannot escape the things I’ve done

Oh, my Daisy Dunne

I’m thinking to myself, “I think I love her”
But not half as much as I’m scared I’ll lose control
So I hold that naïve girl and tell her I love her
Out of fear she might forsake my aching soul

‘Cause I can’t bear the thought of hanging from the rope all on my own
I’m trying to take her to Heaven with me but I’ll burn in Hell alone
Me and Daisy Dunne will run into the angry setting sun
But we cannot outrun the things I’ve done

We’re hiding out in a shack by the sea with my little brother
At half my age he’s twice the man I’ll be
But I see the way he looks at my lover
And I killed the last man who tried to take her from me

I shot him dead and then we fled, but his eyes still stare at me
Now my lover screams from in her dreams while I lie awake listening
Me and Daisy Dunne are one, until the judgement of kingdom come
Until they hang me from my neck for what I’ve done

Oh, my days are done

Please, will someone spare the truth from my poor mother?
Don’t you tell her what befell her eldest son
You can tell her all about my lovely lover
But do not let Mum know the man that I’ve become
I just wish she could have met my Daisy Dunne

One fateful night I caught Daisy’s eye, she was giving me a silent plea
Then I saw some light and I decided it was time for me to set her free
But my Daisy Dunne she took my gun and killed a man who was chasing me
And now she’s standing beside me here at the gallows tree

(As they lower the hood over evil and good, the last things we will see
Are my longing stare and her accusing glare, and it suddenly occurs to me
I have no way of knowing where it is I’m going, but I have the distinct feeling:
Whatever is next, my Daisy will not be there with me
And I could have used my last words to tell her that I’m sorry)

There’s a creek with a swing
And rocks for climbing
That turns a man into a boy
The creek is born
From a waterfall
That fills a young girl with joy

He watches her wade
In the pool in the shade
A beauty no one could conceive
And this place is so real
So perfect it feels
That they each never want to leave

Beyond the thrall
Of the waterfall
The creek from the ether transcends
It twists and it turns
Like his touch on hers
And it seems to go on without end

He offers his hand
To help her ascend
She accepts without making a choice
And they follow the stream
In a faraway dream
Far enough from real life’s aching voice

Back home, flesh and bone
The lonely unknown
And a love that is doomed not to be
But they still hear the call
Of the waterfall
In the ether and in their dreams

She finds that even backyard leaves contain
a blazing history inside their veins.
She reads the legends etched in crinkled skin,
her ardent, housebound blood boiling within.

At dusk, she likes to listen to the creek–
its reverent, animated tales of meek
young girls who grew into grand bronze statues–
and long for metal legs that’d let her choose

to dare, and burn, instead of fear, and waste.
But still, at night, her body likes to chase
the hours stargazing at ceilings. And
the myth-less, coarse white stucco slowly sands

away each spot of sprouting luster on
her atrophying frame. With nerve all gone
and adult blood inert as viscous tar,
she cannot even dream of ceiling stars.