You sadden me into my deepest rooms of colorless time-consuming.
You are the reason I flirt with cannabis.
Heaven exists above because you think you are higher than us.
You do not know me.
I will break your jaw if you cry on me.
Don't rain on my mediocre parade.
Your lowered tints to lower my moods.
The most depressing days of my life are when you accompany me.
Whenever you are smiling, my body weeps.
I find my body disagreeing with himself when I'm with you.

Watch along the horizon line
Past the trees and you will find

Through the skies being installed
Every high and every fall

Cloaked until again recalled
Nature once again redrawn

Clear for all who look to see
Our collective mother’s ECG

Tall and shadowed is the man from behind
We'd follow the prints of his footsteps in kind

Through bramble and briar to our chest, to his knees
The brown and suede boots we would follow under trees

Guitar bags and candles and his things around the house
Strange metal trinkets which made strange metal sounds

The kisses with my mother before they never kissed again
And his father too,
whom I met in the street and awkwardly embraced
Love comes in lulls and in spates

Glistening in the sun
Light-hearted. A release. Fun.
Gliding along. Riding the wind. Drifting. Soaring.
A magical orb, transporting you back to a childhood
So carefree. So happy. So easy.
Floating, without a care in the world.
A moment of pleasure. A moment to treasure.
The freedom. Serenity. Complete lack of responsibility.

Of a bubble

Under the pale blue sky
A small bird chirps softly as it watches the world go by.
Soft green grasses wave in the breeze
As the rose's heavy perfume tickles my nose and makes me sneeze.
Your eyes dart toward me, a dashing golden hue
And I stand stalk still to study you.
Long ears flick back and forth, covered in waves of silk
And I can make out a small cotton tail the color of buttermilk.
You glance over your shoulder, wide eyes studying me
before you spring across the meadow, happily free.

I walk here daily

Amidst the greens, corn, and flowers

The flowers were not my idea but I love them just the same

The thin layer of mud keeps each foot company

The familiarity of the garden is comforting even if we haven’t planted it… yet

Remember those days,
when we’d jump in the car and find ourselves
somewhere fifty miles south?

Or when we’d decide on a Wednesday
that it was the time for an adventure,
the purple pom pom on your dashboard
fluttering in the summer wind.

Where did those days go?

Why have we left them behind,
the exhilarating, spontaneous, unsure
best days of our lives?

We have traded them for days locked in,
watching the snow fall outside rather
than being the ones outside chasing it.

How surreal it is,
lofted above the wrinkles in the landscape,
where clouds settle like a dropped cloth
on peaks and valleys,
to find distance.

Yet how surreal to be grounded!
To reach overhead and let morning dew
travel down your fingers,
to explore the splintered surface
of golden timber not yet weathered.

Cliffs tower above
Stars paint the sky with dancing light
As the young doe sleeps.

Wind whistles through trees
Blowing pebbles through meadows
And ruffling fur.