cobalt blue, lime green and
lemon yellow warp
stretches on a loom

the shuttle dances
back and forth
weaving my crimson weft
into the pattern of the universe

my pilgrimage zigzags
beneath the comb
as time winds the warp
which begins and ends
beyond my scarlet thread

steam curls up like a lazy thought,
fading into nothing before I can hold onto it
warmth slips through the mug, into my hands, into my chest
as if the quiet heat could fill some empty space I hadn’t noticed.

sip, pause—just me and the drift of morning shadows,
sunlight splintered across the table, catching the edge of the cup,
and I wonder if every little thing knows its place here but me,
The coffee ground me, an anchor that tastes like earth, like waiting.

I think of all the things I need to do and don’t move,
just sit, letting time flow softly as the heat through my fingers
until the cup’s empty, until the silence tastes of something else—
an ending, a beginning, maybe both.

It’s hard to know
What a life will mean
Mid sentence

Choices made
Driven by the times
Unchosen

It’s no game
But someone loses
Every time

And so we love
To show the other
We’re the same

In the end
You tried your best
So did I

…………something about an end. the scope of things together. in the spiral you’re still connected to the beginning. I’m still here just falling. rewrapping the ugliness of hurt. kissing my knuckles. pushing against gravity. elbows and toes buried. in my latest growth-spite. the line drawn under  unconnected. a context of embarrassment. remember the rule about tying loose ends. speak into my night light. scratch out a chance.  take refuge by the windowsill. the downpour whispered its precedence. he’s out there. drowning standing up. our bedroom. the thunder failing to tick over. lightning like a flinch. hands in hands in gaps. i wonder if the rain knows it might not end. wonder if i might not too……………….

From the start,  
where dreams first whispered  
and laughter danced on air,  
the world seemed wide,  
like a page blank and bright.  

We built castles from crayons,  
painted skies with no limits,  
every worry a distant cloud  
easily chased away.  

Friendship bloomed  
like spring flowers,  
mixing colors in the sun,  
each moment a treasure  
held close,  
glistening like morning dew.

there was a tale
of an angel
with a wing so bright
you could see it at night
but he never had the other
to complete his pair
and in its place
was a wing filled with air
though his beauty was there
and his wing was glistening
he could never fly
because of his missing wing
so he was good
but never great
he was a mate
but never checkmate.
always an angel
never God
always second best
never firstly sought.
and out of this jealousy
a raging war
he stared at his creator
like a lion he roared
he took with him
a third of heaven's stars
and there on the battlefield
blood shed redder than mars
and the battle was won
not by the angel
but by Michael
the warrior more faithful
“Lucifer!” he cried
standing over the earth
“Away from me,” responded Lucifer,
cast down on the turf.
there he lay
with the rest of the ‘meteors’
once stars now never
now they meet the earth.
so he lives
not for long
with the humans
in their song
spreading pain
spreading terror
but this won’t last
forever.

breaking into another's memory, fleeting,
escaping through someone else's eyes,
like a tower of separate fragments and pieces,
tumbling down before it can ever rise.
and the victory lap isn't sweet, but drunken,
and everyone stumbles around in a daze,
'cause it seems like we've only just gotten started,
but it's already time to be replaced.
someone says "that's life for you, darling,
with its highs and lows, with its frowns and smiles",
and it seems like we're all just a memory, fleeting,
escaping through someone else's eyes.

there's an echo of voices still talking downstairs,
conversations and laughter, pouring out through the doorway.
everything's temporary, in the right time and place
our meetings and partings all tell the same story.
in a moment of sadness there's a sweet aftertaste,
everything has its end, everyone must keep going.
there's an echo of voices still talking downstairs,
always waiting for someone to step through the doorway.