This is not all that I am
All that I can see
My eyes shut close and fade
Into nothing.

I can see you
And all my hinges all my twists.
My bereavements and edges
That I cannot take back

The light can take me
When I decide it is my time
But I am not done
I am not done living.

My feathers can burn.
Into soot
Take all of me that is left
That I can give.

But I am done giving up
What more
What more can I ha-------------

this bowl can still
be repaired
even if it
seems broken
irredeemably
even if its pieces
have been trodden
underfoot
further ground down
in an effort
to recover those
scattered fragments
as unlikely as
it may be that
these edges can
be jigsawed together
aligned once more
it could simply be
a case of
embracing the cracks
that might remain
filling them
with something
to be marvelled at

it turns out
Mother Nature is
just as indecisive
as the rest of us
it seemed that
she had finished
with her winter
her day-long frosts
and biting winds
no longer the need
to cocoon oneself
in protective layers
when venturing out
for nothing more than
a bottle of milk
of down-stuffed coats
and twice-wrapped scarves
woollen hats
and thermal socks

it felt like
we had moved on
our spring had arrived
just in time
we could enjoy
the brisk early mornings
despite their chill
safe in the knowledge
that the gentle touch
of afternoon warmth
would shortly follow
the biggest setback
to be expected
was an intermittent
morning-to-evening downpour
dampening our anticipation
though only temporarily
of any plans we had made
until the puddles were dry
or had drained away

it may have been
a false start
but i'm loathe to say
we were tricked
or call it
an outright lie
those brightened days
were a welcome change
enjoyed by all
we were simply
carried away by
the primaveral allusions
lulling us enough
to forget the cold
and its significance
catching us unprepared
and exposed
like those delicate flowers
so recently bloomed
buried for now
beneath this weight
of snow

perhaps it is apt
the first pancake
is always
a disappointment
stodgy
anaemic
without that light
crisped perfection
we've come to expect
it is undercooked
typically
as the ideal
frying time
is gauged
incorrectly at first
it will be
plated with
accompanying pleas
for forgiveness
and absolution
but as penance
someone has to
suffer this
pariah's offering
with each mouthful
comes thoughts
of apology
of atonement
of promises
it will be better
next time

i would like
to keep bees
or at least
i like the idea
of keeping bees
to be honest
i know nothing
next to nothing
about all that
it entails
but it seems like
it would be cathartic
although their frenzies
may be calmed
by the smoke
movements must remain
slow and gentle
such fragility
must be tended to
   carefully
   mindfully
almost lovingly
i think i like
the idea of the peace
to be found in
those moments
there is a
shade-dappled spot
at the bottom
of the garden
that would be
the perfect place
for them
where the humming
of the hive
would accompany
the swaying of
the tree's
their gentle whispering
and the quietude
that would settle
beyond

i've grown accustomed to having no one in my room.
i've learned to love the shade of my curtains.
mom gave them to me since i kept waking up earlier than when i should have
and that my eyes adjusts hastily on the light that felt
burning, heating, loathing.

what a span of three years does to a man.
but a force in my subconscious drove my hands and feet
i finally tied my curtains.

i let the dust settle in
like an unwanted foreign aunt on vacation
but i was taught to be hospitable.
the despicable sunlight seeped in fastly
and there was this hug that i felt

like my mom the week before chemotherapy
she always said it felt as if
her mother was looking over.
a guiding hand, she feels.

maybe this is what i was missing in my mornings.

so, i welcomed it.
i'm glad i tied my curtains today.

its these winter mornings
where any thought
of greeting
the dawning day
with warm thoughts
hopeful exuberance
and a positive outlook
will quickly be silenced
along with
the birdsong of
that overly optimistic alarm
that melody
so carefully selected
to ease consciousness
into a brightened state
of motivation
of joy
despised within seconds
immediately cut short
and resented for
its mindless persistence

the first excuse
a need for another
ten minutes
of warmth and comfort
to prepare
for the day
for life in general
perhaps
the second
a negotiated concession
that there was
no real reason
to get up
early anyway
finally
uncertain whether
in victory
   or defeat
the alarm will be
cancelled completely
along with the rest
of the day

forgotten are
those bright
autumnal colours
of the freshly fallen
no longer able
to offer
a crisp rustling
with each step
a whisper that
invites child
and adult alike
to kick
   and shuffle
playfully
ignoring the bite
of frost
unwelcomed
by noses
and fingertips

those downbeat leaves
lately of such
seasonal delight
have been rejected
by bough
   and branch
drifting meekly
without protest
or wrenched
from arboreal familiarity
by gusting wind
or gloved hand
turned to mulch
by constant downpours
muddily trodden upon
without second thought
clinging to any
passing boot
trainer or shoe
only to be scraped
and scuffed
on pavement
   or curb
stomped in a puddle
left behind

The leaves fall down,
My motivation too.
Just yearning for winter
Or something else to do.

I cling on, push myself
With each and every task.
I'm barely hanging on,
It's too much to ask.

To the branches and twigs,
The leaves remain strong.
Stacks form beneath them;
They will all join the song.

Yet as the leaves fall,
I can see a clearing.
My vision is regained;
My ears are hearing.

There's beauty around;
The foliage is red.
It merely suggests change;
The trees aren't dead.

Instead of wilting
Just like the flowers,
I can enjoy the minutes
And be present in the hours.

Floral death lies amongst
The pumpkins that grow;
When the days are long,
It's okay to take it slow.

The children find joy
In trick-or-treat.
There's maple, pumpkin,
And apple to eat.

In autumn you may
Lose your spark,
Just as the maples
Expose their bark.

There's also the chance
To ******* your boots.
Stay grounded like the oaks
Who find strength in roots.