If only I could collect the rain,
Put it in a jar
And take it to God.

Then I would say,
Here, I found your tears,
They made the soil breath.


-- Eleanor

Every night, six ten on the dot
came the weary woman, collecting fragments of thought.
She pulled her green dumpster,
always on time,
waiting for the dependable
same-old twelve chimes.
Only then would she leave,
take her uniform off,
then the next day again,
dancing with the clock.
But some days she'd pick up
litter from a genius's mind,
and astounded she'd be with
her new precious find.
She placed these in her lilac box,
saved for the best of the best,
then, preparing for the next shift.
she would take a much needed
rest.

Fingers laced together, I am a basket.
Take parts to build a heart: you will need
wild things, beautiful things.

Mostly you will need
things that no one asked for,
that no one expected.
Things that have no reason to exist,
but do.

Netted spiderwebs and nettle fistfulls.
Fish scales and cotton cattails.
Dragonflies skimming across the water in the early morning
and fireflies imitating stars in the somber dusk.
The eddies behind rocks that jut brashly from the river
and the ribbons woven wreath-like through wrens’ nests.

Hauled up by handles, dump everything somewhere
you wouldn’t mind living.
Apply heat, settle in somewhere
you wouldn’t mind leaving.
Let sit two to twenty four hours, stirring occasionally.

Listen:
rhythm
one-two
one-two
it lives.

You said I was a snowflake,
You told me that our love was rare and delicate.
But I've found that snowflakes collect together
Become dangerous and cause devastation–
A force of nature.
You told me love was like a snow flurry,
But ours was an avalanche.

A rapacious hand that collects
Often begets
Vanity
Envy
And
Ennui

It was 11.59 a moment before
       the afternoon of our lives.
But a finite moment of seconds
                  can collect on regrets.

What if I had told you the life story
of midday reflections was momentary.
I was nothing before you walked on the  
                                                          d­oorstep
of my heart, rubbing feelings on my heart.

Alas time will wonder on seconds
                       of inconsistent faults.
     Within those frail moments our
future was a shattered reflection below.

You were mine before midday, I'll hold
        every second before the moments past.
     Reflections of moments I'll collect,
      but I know after midday your just a memory.

i'm going to collect your words
put them all in a tub
watch them stick to wet skin
swirl as i begin to rub

oh words, dear friend
it hurts to feel you again
maybe if i soak in here long
my head, you'll finally sink in

I'm waves of sorrow
collapsing on shores of
                            dejection

High tide carries me to
rock pools of collected
                            reflections.

When I regress to my lowest
point, I drown within my own
                                              regrets

I'm in a cycle of waves that crash
within myself, washing me slowly
                                                  away...