Rows of pastel houses lining the springy green grass
Green
Blue
Yellow
The soft sound of wind chimes is heard in the distance
Ring-a-ling
Ring-a-ding
Her long brown hair is swept up in the gentle breeze like waves looking up at an everlasting sunset

When my sister sits on the train
She loves people watching
And she watches the murals go by
Like sunsets and rises
Of new days
My sister does not dwell on the tracks
When we walk to the train.
They terrify her
She runs past them,
She is anxious and evening and morning.
The train is a path to the next day
I have never seen someone dwell
On the train tracks
Waiting for a train to come
To dissolve the path to the next day
And leave them dead
But I wonder
If that one who passed yesterday
Was once terrified of train tracks
And if they ever rode the train
Before there were murals
On a path to the next day.

The sky is on fire
It burns red hot and strikes a match to clear water
Everything’s up in flames but it’s calm,
Comfortable in the chaos

I watched the sun set by your side,
never knowing that your sunset eyes at night are drowning ocean in disguise.

The wind wrestles with my hair and fills my cheeks with pink.
The thickness of the day surrenders to the coolness of the night.
Fleeting hues of violet and yellow set my heart on fire--a promise of warmth.
The world is still.
But the fire goes out and the shadows flood in:
unveiling the deepest depths of darkness.
And yet, the stars scream out:
The sun will rise again,
The sun will rise again.

The perfect still portait that captures all beauty.

Is it the rising sun as it strokes the oceans creating a beautiful mirage of wonder?

Is it the night light sky where the moon and stars remain out of reach with the lone dancing star few see?

Is it the moment of two joining in love and putting the bands of eternity upon their finger?

None of these are the perfect still portait.

The perfect still portrait is the moment in time not captured by lense but by sight and mind.

The perfect still portrait is a feeling and memory at once that can never be described or forgotten.

My perfect still portrait is the moment you said you love me.

Old-man at the grocery
transfers his bags from motor-cart
to push-buggy. I stop to ask
if he might like some help.

‘No,’ he says, and in his age
I see defiance,
refusal to give up
what little control
he still maintains.

'I’m good,’ he affirms
before he directs his fragility
out into the dark parking lot–
out into the cold.

Have you looked upon a western sky at a certain time of day?
When the endless turning of the world compels the sun to go away.
Have you looked across an open plain with soil of rust red brown?
And seen the brightest evening star burn bright as jewel in crown?
Have you seen the stands of trees fade into the black of night?
And watched them all but disappear as day makes final rays of light.
Have you seen upon the far horizon the shapes of ancient lands?
And watched the changing light show of radiant, fiery bands.
Have you seen the shades of fire change the western sky?
And marveled at all its beauty until it wets your very eye.
Have you taken time to note every shade in fiery hue?
And marveled at flame red clouds upon a sky of pastel blue.
Have you stood and watched the glory as it slowly fades away?
Dont despair and make the time, as it happens every day.