I can’t help but notice
Some twinkle in your eye;
Your thoughts now are subtle,
But I’ll see through, by and by.

I know how you’ll act
Once you get the right chance.
You'll do just as expected--
And with fate you will dance.

The dead woman’s cat in the furrows of the garden
does not let herself be picked up
although hungry and thin after five days
with the dead woman and a night in the rain.
It has gone to join the other feral cats
among the junk behind the house. To be outrageously
******. On my way to work I try to entice it
with false friendship, guilt that the dead woman is dead.

On my way home I buy a can of cat food
but can’t find the cat. I let her go
to her fate. Later that night I try again
but there’s a tom waiting in her place.

Maybe I could have saved her if I’d known
her husband overdosed last week. Just maybe,
no more.
I ask the neighbors what happened to the kid.
The kid lives with her grandparents, they just used her for welfare.

I used to say
Somebody dies every day, it’s normal.
Finding and being found
by a woman, enjoying some romance, having children
and in that context earning a living
which becomes what you say when someone asks
what you do.
Doing something that proves you are alive
since the outcome will so easily be the opposite.
Stay near the earth people
that’s the way to grow old.

Maybe art is exposing my soul,
Leaving it raw and vulnerable under
The gazes of all those
Who wander in the museum of my
Heart.

Maybe art is an exercise in understanding,
Where we strain to make sense of
Darkness we’ve never seen the depths of,
Or light that we long to be warmed by
But can’t quite reach.

Maybe art is a meeting of kindred spirits;
An understanding that you were never alone,
Even when you were drowning and no one
Could hear you scream.
Far away, your words echoed, and in
The mind of another lost soul,
They found their place on the page.

As I have found myself here again while looking for God
how strange I had to of step
be one there have my fall considered out of a pocket
what seemed well until it
looked as of me that left of
mine to be: I am asking God
what is there now to be
except nights the forests of
steps done below zero by fieldwalks be too cold to sleep
by wind kept of reminded
to be looking for myself.

Searching the world for God
in a man,

as man in the sun
is

Like the gentle rain over your field

waking you up after
the long and lonely jorney,

where my roots
are, there was my tree
planted in the sun,

blooming and fruitful, dreaming

a life of a man in love
as lived for a woman so grew
as a branch that dream
a new, on the tree, into one.

Tell valkyries as told have done
For sake of a dear guest to take heart and give way to dress in their finest cloths and comb their hair hundred times.

Tell valkyries as told i had i did since question of manner and luck my fortune keep a candle in the window lid for a traveler dear coming from a very far.

Tell valkyries to honor a name greet and welcome like a brother like home as near to heart of dom scent a bed by tulips open new barels of wine.

Tell valkyries to mind the word be few and name by mountains called an old friend introduced voice recognized remembered to dont mistake with the fools.

Tell valkyries to take a bath in water of eternal youth and beauty and to dont be late for the feast of love over death do  decorate windows for victory!

We won! Gracefully.

What lovers call romance
Whatever loves to care
Enough to hide at day
Till the night to pretend.

Too little and too late
Hearts done hesitate
Hundred lies in deads
It died still had to bare.

Much to killers a grace
To no suprise to suspect
Man in no mans land
Far the heaven to stray.

For once in life dealt
And to have to offer
Trust pays not laugh
Fair like men no less.

Fathers to be to have
love in heart mistaken
The way fooled many
More made to be a man.

Honey to cross a finger
By a monk on forehead
And tore piece of bread
Meanwhile weeping i ate.

Of love lovers are made
Nights sleep not to have
"Suits me well to suffer"
How the poor mans prays.

The path of life I once beheld,
Until I agreed to be born into this world,
I knew the reason without a doubt—
You, destined to be my mother.

In a world of right and wrong, painted gray,
Your color shines as white to me
In another life with or without choice,
I choose you.

He holds my gaze with trembling hands,
A man torn by tides, shifting sands.
He says he wants me—but I know the ache,
The ghost of her still in his wake.

Her name lingers like smoke in the air,
And now his ex—her shadow is there.
Whispered confessions, a flicker of doubt,
A heart that wanders, a love stretched out.

Yet I do not judge; how could I dare?
I see the storm he’s learned to wear.
A mind that battles, a heart that’s bruised,
A tangle of love and paths confused.

I see my soul reflected in his eyes,
A twin flame’s fire, where truth and shadow lie.
I know his hunger, the ache to feel whole,
The battles within, the wars of the soul.
I understand the need, the longing for love,
The self-sabotage, the push, the shove.
For his self-doubt mirrors my own scars—
Two hearts aligned, yet torn apart by stars.

I’m hopeful for us, yet I’ll tread with care;
His patterns linger, my heart’s aware.
Yet I won’t worry, I won’t let the anxious thoughts win.
I’ll trust the journey, let the healing begin.
For love is a path both fragile and strong,
And what’s truly meant for us won’t steer us wrong.

Yet I can’t help it; my chest now tightens as I dream of us:
Will his promises hold, or crumble like dust?
Will I be the anchor, or just another shore?
Will he seek solace where he’s been before?

Still, I’ll stay and never judge, for I know his pain—
The weight of loss, the ache of shame.
I understand the wounds, the scars unspoken,
Our fragile hearts, so easily broken.

I’ll let time flow, let it all unfold,
For fate has a way of taking hold.
What’s meant to be will find its way,
Through light or shadow, come what may.

For if he can choose me, leave the past behind,
I know we’ll find peace in love redefined.
But I’ll still tread lightly, for love is a thread,
And trust is a bridge I’ll build with my dread.

One week before first day
By a dream i was awaken
fourth wind in the garden
By the will of might made.

How long to sleep i asked
Thousand years did pass
In blink of the eye not yet
To be has done told open.

Ages of time none to tell
Nor even out to compare
dated a mean to moment
Of had the second to take.

Counted sixty of like steps
another on fingers of hand
O clocks facing to express
Within minutes hour made.

That comes to be for last
Of second in minute held
hours last minute the day
Day by we how a blessed.

Day of world to never end
Since sun a match lighted
At a spark across in black
Finger of the hand apointed.

Palms closed bit of matter
Havin time pressed against
Globe be a shape of velvet
Turn to collect all its made.

Records rolled like pictures
Captured its all found afate
World round of sun written
Of all proud and so as great.

Once the set be come to as
And history of lives to cast
Parts of heroes and villians
To come to see and conquer.

As once the end be to have
The worlds corners ashape
A king and hero and lovers
Every to come to be a man.

Of brave the wild bein fate
Hands of clocks hear clap
Claping the suns every ray
To soul to watch it together.

Projected on black canvas
First row seated old paint
History starrin a premiere
That 15 minutes of fame.