some poems
long to be gardens
or more likely lakes

enclosed and safe
ideal for thinking
suitable for letting go

where even silence
is guarded precious
embracing yet

leaving time out
somehow a small
palpitation held

between hands

Many drops are in
the mysterious oceans,
the filthy lakes,
the murky rivers,
the cloudy brooks,
in the vast world.

It's hard to find a drop
that's different
in the mysterious oceans,
the filthy lakes,
the murky rivers,
the cloudy brooks,
in the vast world.

But all it takes
is one divergent drop
willing to break from
the mysterious oceans,
the filthy lakes,
the murky rivers,
the cloudy brooks,
to persuade
the drops in the
vast world into becoming
something gloriously
beautiful.

We sang to remember the moments that had ready passed us by. The moments when the wind flew through our hair as we drove towards the lake on that summer night.

We laughed so hard our stomachs threatened us with a six pack & a good time. Pulling off the side of the road to laugh a little longer than we needed to.

The moments we so often forget; I live for those. Stargazing on docks, skinny dipping on rocks. Wandering through the woods in the night, hoping the Mosquitos don't bite. Deer omens and sweating a little to much; remembering the simple times, a simple touch.

To be young. To be free.
I want to live this way forever.

Nothing
looks familiar
anymore and
I want to go home
but nowhere
feels like
it anymore.

When bluffs
get boring
I trade them
for fields.

When two
lakes aren’t enough
I leave for
a forest of them.

Maybe it’s true
that home isn’t
a place but
a feeling.

Maybe
home
is me.

But
what if
home isn’t
a feeling,
but a person.

Maybe
home
is You.

For now
I’ll have to
carry all that
makes a home
in my bones
until I find
someone I can
unpack into

There is a frozen lake with a grand piano in the center of it.
There is an older man playing songs from our childhood as we stand around him and sing the words to his music.
The cool breeze is getting cooler and snow is threatening to fall at any second...
But there is soup on the stove and warm couch for us to sit together and lay down.
Drink a glass of wine, raise a glass for all our times.
Smiles, tears, dances and doors slammed.
Children born, parents gone, friends say hello and just as quickly say goodbye...
The old man is tickling the ivory and the ebony keys - songs like brown eyed girl and I guess that's why they call it the blues. He plays Cole Porter and Ira Gershwin tunes too...
We hold hands and I want to take you in my arms and sweep you off your feet, fly away to another world...another time...
But the lake is frozen, the snow is beginning to fall and the soup is on the stove...I can smell it from here...
So say goodbye to the sadness, say goodbye to that old man, playing Fire and Rain...maybe tomorrow we can do this all again.

I have felt the heat of a thousand flames,
And witnessed the shattering of all of my hearts,
Every word that escaped my mouth,
Couldn't have been as blessed as your name.

I have swum in a thousand lakes,
And I've drowned in each one,
with every breath a synapse of obliteration,
And every heave of my soul the collaboration of all your suns.

All my feathers lie in abysmal reticence,
In reaches of an hour glass filled with ashes,
Where every ash is the increment,
Of promised prayers of retribution.

There aren't many things I know forsure,
For the world fades unto oblivion with every breath it takes,
There couldn't have been anything more obscene,
Then the innocense of your allure.

But what I do know in bits and pieces,
with closed eyes and whispered hope,
Is that there lies a certain virtue,
In the reaches of being a prisoner of the exhuberance of your soul...