After you, I've had the urge
to finally cut my hair
that ended beneath my waist
and looked good with
shoulders bare.

The length of it stretched on
and it reminded me of you.
The same endless cycle,
you'd always split off
into two.

Colours have faded now,
leaving the carcass of a strand.
A fraud of what it truly was,
growing under your demands.

But I face the mirror now,
as scissors went where you've dwelt.
My mother hacked away my hair
until I looked more like myself.

The only word I hate
Because it is always said
When a person leaves me behind
And never return.
Goodbye

Here I am in the middle of your days
before the summer has said goodbye
and the brown beauty of fall has arrived.
It is easy to forget to notice your
persistent pink exuberance of crepe myrtle
to escape the warmth of your winds
for the coolness of the den.

There is still time to grow
before autumn ushers in the first snow.
Being in your midst makes me mellow
slows me and gives me time to re-member
those I’ve loved in the midst of you, September,
time to listen to you in the songs of birds
hear the wisdom of your words
on the peaceful cusp of Libra and Virgo.

Speak to me September
blow your breath upon the ember
of this era in my journey
let not the sparks still remaining
be lost in the cross fires
and anxiety of these days.
In your haste to bid farewell to summer
forget not my moments of wonder
let me hear your thunder
and please before you leave me
speak to me in your deep warm voice
and resurrect me from the wasteland
of this languorous slumber.

You fare thee well only to those you wanna see again.
I hope to come back soon enough.
This is, good bye.

Exiled in the darkest of nights
a traversing light I suddenly see
I hastily hid in fear
yet staring in awe, in wonder I gazed

I tried to tame the light
it tamed me instead
giving me tears
as it continued its way

The bustle of wheels and shoes across marble
are muted by the high ceilings
of the great Arrival Hall.

Underneath its fluorescent skies
a long back river flows
winding around the headlands
of counters and
disappearing into x-ray caverns.

The smell of suitcases hangs in the air like
morning mist pooling around ankles.
Not quite fading with the passing of day,
but mingling with wafts of fresh coffee
-and jet fuel.

From somewhere in the distance a chapel bell chimes,
announcing that Passengers of Flight AQ284 can
board the plane in ten minutes time.

the Passengers flock to their gate with
the dependency of cattle to the bell
and trickle, single file
through a metal esophagus and into

a Silver Dragon that flies at midnight
taking off from a starlit path
and into the cold dark night
its echoing, parting roar
speaks of farewells and
bright futures
and
distant lands

so very


far



away.