We know that which we know.
That being that we only know
That which is learning, to grow.
That knowing is to learn.
It is to never completely be sure
Of that which you already understand,
Yet to be totally assured.
For in that ignorance,
There is wisdom.

The mountains do not flinch
at what the world has done.
They hold their silence
in granite outcroppings—
scarred, still,
older than sorrow,
yet never indifferent to it.

She came to the ridge
where the cold wind weaves
between trees older than memory.
It touched her like a voice—
not kind,
not cruel,
just knowing.

And that knowing
wrapped around her ribs
like a truth she never chose to carry.

She stood beneath the pines,
her face turned to sky,
and the weight of it all
finally broke through—
tears carving warmth
into cheeks too long hardened.

Then her head
pressed to my chest—
as if to ask
if anything was strong enough
to stay.

And I knew.
I was built for this.
To stand right here.
To hold what broke her
and not let it fall further.

The wind moved on—
but something stayed:
a stillness
a hush

a warmth in the marrow
of what had once been frozen.


Not every wind will cut so cold.
Not every ache will hold.
And not everything un-beautiful
was meant to remain that way.

Tomorrow, the trees will still be here.
And the creek will still run clear.
But so will she—
with something inside
that now knows:

even the wounded
can become
the most beautiful thing
the mountains have ever seen.

When love knocks,
it’s not from the deadbeat of your pain-stricken heart,
nor the dread of laughter you dare not experience.
It does not come from the agony of the past.

When love visits,
it comes like a wave of fresh air
a relief from your previous anguish.
Love arrives and consumes you whole.
Ready or not, you’ll feel it deep in your bones.

You’ll feel the goosebumps
and this time, not from your anxiety,
but as a gentle reminder telling you to breathe.

When it finally arrives,
it engloves you in a garden.
It waters your dying soul
until it blooms into a canvas of colorful flowers.

And this time,
love comes with certainty
no second-guessing,
just reassurance in its fullest form.

When love knocks,
I pray you’re able to see it.
no longer waiting,
no longer biased
just you,
allowing yourself to fall under its gaze.

When love visits,
I pray you’re prepared for it.

Let us sing of life

and of sorrow, let us toast --


to comfort ourselves.

the glass stood tall once.  
       smooth, untouched,    
               shaped to expectation.  

then came the fall.  
the slip,  
         the drop,  
                 the ruin.  

hands hovered over the wreckage,  
  whispers of what was,  
    what could have been,  
       what will never be again.  

    no one wanted the pieces.  
           no one knew what to do with them.  
                they stared, they sighed, they left.  

      but someone stayed.  
             or maybe no one did, maybe just the dust.  
                    just the dust, and the silence, and the weight of absence.  

gold is a lie they tell to make it bearable.  

   it does not erase the cracks.  
      it does not restore what was lost.  
         it only makes the breaking visible.

   not untouched,  
           not perfect,  
                   but standing.  

   they call it beauty,  
             but it is only survival.  
                      they call it art,  
                                 but it is only memory.  

       if light filters through the seams,  
             does it mean it is still breaking?

The sound of the wind

and the water comforts me --


Tell him of my love!

walking those shorelines
and rocky borders
between the heart & mind

on a mend
in an effort to learn
the signature of each lung

with the hope
that this breathlessness
parallels the transience of life

don't forget to look up from the sand,
from the little voice
between the two sounds of a working heart

the ocean raises a salute
for those moments
that never leave us

When I walked past the casket,
And I set down at my pew,
I tried to conjure memories,
That would remind me of you.
While others cried, I stayed silent,
Cursing myself for seemingly not feeling a thing,
And when we left the church,
Numbness remained.

You lived a good long life,
You saw a lot through your lifetime,
We may not have been related directly,
But you were a close friend of the family.
You’d been through more than I could imagine,
You were around well before I came around.

The person who preached,
Who summarized a life in a few paragraphs filled with sentences,
Said something that stood out to me.
“Eventually, they’ll come a day,
Where more people you know are beyond than down here.”
While that seemed to be a cause for celebration,
All I felt was existential fear.

I’ve lost a lot of those I loved.
My neighbors to the right,
And an uncle who tried,
And now I can add to the list a family friend.
Through each death,
Death held my hand,
His cold touch led the way to acceptance.
I can’t change what happened,
Can’t bring them back to leave a few more years for me,
Until I was satisfied,
Cause I know I’d never be satisfied.
Though, as I cried,
He traced his bony finger across my cheek,
Drying my tears before he left,
Leaving behind a few simple statements.
“The loss you feel is proof they mattered.
Don’t let their death add to your mental clatter.
You believe in a place beyond this mortal plane,
So why waste your tears when you know you’ll see them again?”
I laughed in his face.
“If only it was that easy, Death.”
I remarked with pain.
Yet, as he left,
I knew he was right,
Barbara,
We’ll meet again,
In due time.
Until then,
Take a look down here now and again,
I’ll know.
So,
Farewell for now.

They got me an umbrella,
to save me from the rain.
Shame, I thought, that same resource
which gives us life,
and tickles light,
in beautiful ways portrays the city at night,
as I look through my window,
a shame that we should hide so vehemently
from the cold and adverse,
from the tears of the earth
that give it a life,
that wraps it in blue in the great void of night.

I hope one day,
the rains wash away
the fakeness and faces,
and unhealthy places
and carries us to a place
that's less graceless.
I hope we can suffer a few small droplets per day,
of that purified element
that washes the all-consuming comfort away.