waltzing into life
the bee is
one of many.
their heart yearns
for sweet nectar,
or maybe love,
or just time.
but honestly, it’s
a short life
and the days
stretch as thin
as the webs
that hide in
the smallest corners.
is it so much
to ask for
a little more
time?

you, an ever-changing evergreen – are
lovelier than yesterday’s morning rain, and
more curious than tomorrow’s budding lilacs.
lost, i find myself in your lively touch.
my pain, the mirror i peer into when i pick up a pen;
i smooth my hair, wipe the snow dust from the corners of my eyes, say a prayer.
am i a vessel of love and devotion?
or simply, am i a constant sea of fault
left bruised – bruised like rotten fruit that has fell from the tree.
if i could meet your gaze, instead of
dreaming in verses,
i would press my fingers to yours
and all but flinch at your needles
as they ***** my skin.
i envy nothing about your days – dim, even when the sun dresses in her sunday best –
except, that your immortal wisdom
is a sunset i will never see:
like a clockmaker with no sense of time,
like a bodyguard with no inner strength.
my hobby – collecting comparisons:
lining up metaphors like calendar days.
words cannot mend your pain like they mend mine

poetry moves my mountains, but will never move yours

you, an ever-constant evergreen – are
lovelier than tomorrow’s starry sky, but
trapped. if i could meet your gaze,
i would close my eyes

She reaches out Her severed, bleeding hand –
so vulnerable, She’s down to skin and bones;
Her lungs collapse – a castle in the sand,
consumed in pain and so utterly alone.
since Her early days, She’s remained quiet;
Her pain towers over Her dying oaks.
these heavy clouds seem like cause for riot,
and yet, we are convinced they are a hoax.
through years of change, we’ve used Her to no end –
a crime that sees no sight of sane justice.
the grave keeps growing, now a proven trend,
the shovel is ruined by the rust, it’s
frightening. to think we might be too late.
i only wish i could prevent Her fate.

Nature – with impeccable force – blows the air around Her,
Her breath dancing on a mirror
like a ghost in the evening.
i cannot see Her face – She never
looks me in the eye, but still – the fog
skews my sight and hides the
blades of the grass and bark of the
tree. i am struck by these wonders,
like the bloom in early march; my
grief leaves me as easy as sight
did in this condition. now, in the
morning, i can only offer my navigation
to a certain extent. i still stumble,
and the anger bubbles like the early
stages of boiling. i rub my eyes
hoping this dream will leave me soon,
knowing that the only way to break the spell is to reach out and wipe the mirror
with my hands

daylight, inflamed from your touch, fell softly;
she is the Mistress of the Universe.
rejoicing in Her own spirit, She inspires,
despite the dissonance between man-kind
and the land, filling their lungs blissfully.
in the beginning, Her shadow seemed still,
high and quiet, mocking the hands of time
(not yet understood, ‘til enlightenment
of knowledge.) She would sit up on Her throne,
peering down, gazing, envious of Us,
as She guards her post obediently
under Nature’s inevitable spell,
wishing that she could end Her troubled thoughts.
She knows she must wake and rise each morning,
She knows Her penance is everlasting.
it doesn’t make it any easier,
being aware of the cross She must bear;
by love, however, She always complies –
sometimes with sweaty palms, quivering lips,
unsteady balance, a crack in her voice –
(regardless, She washes over Our skin)
and cleanses Us of darkness and loneliness.
Her light: a skewed version of teardrops,
perhaps dried by Her heart, as She weeps flames
down her cheeks, a permanent and bold blush
extinguished of purest sin and shyness.
Her intentions have always been Good. Right.
when She hides Her face, She does so gently
searching for a moment to catch Her breath,
for a break from Her continual chore,
as She is worn more than any pair of shoes –
been to more places, been to all places,
She has cried in every small corner of
Nature’s bedroom. She is fearful, but strong
even as She yells, screams, pleads Us to stop,
wishing that we could end Our troubled actions.
i say to Her, i’m sorry for the damage.
i cover her eyes, and kiss Her skin
despite the distance that lies between Us.
i know she is tired. wallowing in
exhaustion. Her days pass. humbly. swiftly.
i also know She is determined to
pull herself from the dark and into the
light. She inspires. She lifts herself up.

we are not alone.

we have the cackling call of the
wise old crow
and the warbling whistle of the
persistent loon,
to remind us of that....

we are not alone.
we have the magnificent trees,
our sisters,
limbs outstretched in a forever
welcoming hug
providing shelter and shade and
authentic beauty just because
they can,
to remind us of that....

we are not alone.

we have the near-unbreakable rocks
and stones pregnant with resiliency
and raw grit, bathed in
curious colors from the
spark of life;
pinks, mauves, apricots, greys
and deep brick reds,
to remind us of that....

we are not alone

we have the playful wind and sky
weaving her many moods and contradictions,
orchestrating the elements while
caressing our skin and kissing our hair
never abandoning and always constant,
to remind us of that....

we are not alone.

we have the vivid green grass
full of ***** and willpower,
fearlessly embracing its
bold freshness and
seasonal rebirth, chanting:
"live boldly in THIS season in
THIS hour in THIS moment
because the only constant is change!"
to remind us of that....

loneliness is not a place
but a perspective.
not a feeling
but a thought.
not a reality
but an illusion.

nature is our constant comrade
showing up every single day of our lives,
regardless of the weather -
to not only breathe life into us
but right along with us.

she is us and we are her,
as we destroy her, we destroy ourselves
as we show her reverence and respect,
we show reverence and respect to ourselves,
and our Creator.

so don’t be a ****.

happy earth day
2018

The graffiti on the bathroom stalls has been blotted out by butterflies
The world is taking back it's body
Bringing back old fashioned Roman  concrete to fill in all the cracks

She's taken apart the locks just in case something beautiful got trapped inside
Every safe is a time capsule
Curiosity isn't dangerous anymore

Every time she took a step, the air shuddered
The soles of her shoes grew roots and flew away
She was humming and fixing things as she went with just the soothing sound of her sanity
Her soul leeching out like an ethereal mechanic

There were wishing flower seeds mixed in with the strawberries she was picking
I think when she ate them, she became holy
Her hands stroked the wind as they fell to her sides,
Like running her fingers through horse hair

At first, she made the mistake of falling in love with elevator buttons
Up, or down, one or the other, in constant motion
When they cut her open, she bled ivy
She invaded their circuitry and rotted their robotic
She showed them alive and showed them the door

She didn't understand wildfires
She knew passion only by its name,
Only by the monuments, by the mountains, and trenches
By the continents drifting like ice in lemonade
"You can't ruin this," she said

And if this is what burnt out looks like,
Imagine what will happen when the meteor hits
Or the bombs go off, or the oceans flood
This isn't a project we can procrastinate on
These are our wide open spaces and final frontiers

See, the world is taking her body back
Bandaging the scars we left,
Quietly, behind us, when we aren't looking
She's reinventing herself
Just like a garden,
Just like a caterpillar,
Just like a star we couldn't give up on
And we're all standing here, shouting, "We can change-"
We can change.