Dip your poets brush in words
give me the east wind
the smell of snow beneath my feet
heavy yellow summer heat
splashing rain upon a roof
sketch me proof, or lies, or pain
draw me a sound I will not hear again
paint me a picture, for the things my eyes cannot see

I am not yet in the country,
But I have seen beauty
In the skies above the sea,
Miles from the borders
That split the earth in two.

The meager plane window
Explodes in gold pigments,
Framed by oceans and jagged,
Deep charcoal clouds
Burnt by the sun's shadow:
An illusory eclipse so large
I mistook it for the Andes.

The plane's asleep
Except for the wide-eyed
And sleep-deprived
Like myself who impart on colors
The novelty of new perspective.

It is so beautiful I rock
My body and head and legs
And want to capture for
The one I loved and left
How I saw the same sun
Painted in startling beauty
That reminds me of her smile.

(Does she think of me
When she sees the sun
And cannot sleep?
Does she wish she could
Show me the wonders
Of her life like I do?)

For now I must alone
Clutch tightly this sight
As my haven while hurtling
Through waking skies
Towards and away
Love and home.

But I have seen beauty
That splits the earth in two.

If I could gather all the stars,
And place them in a bowl,
If I could capture a sunset
And frame it for your wall.
If I could scrape off sunlight's glow,
That kisses the green grass,
Blend the mixture gently,
And serve it in a glass.

I would, I would,
A thousand times or more,
To bring you closer to the beauty
Of all you're longing for.

breeze sings from the east
a tickle against my skin.
the grass here hasn’t been cut for a while
cool to the touch as i braid it between my fingers.
the heat of summer hangs thick in the air but it feels a little lighter
when a stranger’s laugh pokes through.
some sit together , ripping a piece off their pizza crust to hand across the picnic blanket.
some, like me, find a tree standing tall like their own solitude
and take solace in its shade.
i wonder what they carry in their straw baskets and canvas totes.
the change leftover from a morning coffee run?
a half empty bottle of sunscreen?
old movie ticket stubs, a tattered picture of a lover?
in mine, a book with dog eared pages and a broken spine, and the sticky bittersweetness of being alone.
an eager-eyed little boy runs too fast down the hill , picks up speed -
tumbles and scrapes his knee.
his sister scoops him up, wipes salty tears and sticks her tongue out, a smile arises.
in seconds he’s running down the hill again.

One must have a mind of the sea to regard the waves and sandy shores of the salted winds encrusted with shells and past souls.

And have been one with the ocean to behold the sea glass's aquamarine lustre. The encompassing hues of blue highlight the luminescent bacterium.

Swimming in the deep torrents lie miserable souls who jumped overboard, mesmerised by the blues.

Of the July sun, and not to think of any misery sung by the sirens, I was told through the wistful wind in the sound of the shells and conches.

Which is the sound of the waves full of the same wind. That blows through the murky water.

For the listener, dweller, and lover who resides by the shore

And nothing of themselves beholds that of the sea, nothing that is not there, and nothing that is.

A girl with a crush
every pure thought in her heart
she buries deep
until she misses
the warmth of spring
the romance in the summer
and the fall season comes
only to realize that love is gone
the days
when she didn't have the courage
to say
the words
bloom in regret
black blue grenade
shrapnel wound
seems an eternity
when she carefully peels back memories
wrapped so tightly in time
she starts to see
a scintilla
pink and odd
a clutch of stars
dark red and blinking
every bit as pellucid
as the teardrop coalesced
in her eyes.