So many “road stories”
from the Odyssey, and Kerouac, to Augustine.
Each rich in emotion and spirit
most of the stories
have the hero hitched to a fellow traveler
to bathe the soul in word and mood
to throb with the music.

I have recurring dreams.
I’m in a hotel looking for an elevator
can’t find my floor or room
or can’t find my car downtown.
I wander streets, and lots.
Are there road stories hidden in these dreams?

Why do I trip, fall
stay misplaced and lost
find only
transitory
destinations?

Life began,
as autumn fell,
And the leaves turned to ice on the pavement.
Shadows shortened,
The earth went stale
And cold darkness filled every moment

As summer arrived
And the earth turned bleak
Despair peppered the path laid before me
Water pelted the earth
And the leaves turned weak,
Littered corpses of love strewn beneath me

Lost and alone,
With a grimacing soul
Trading pieces of me with the seasons
Futures wasted on hate,
Dreams darkened in cold,
Winter ripping my mind of all reason

Night fled the sky
And the shadows retracted
Darkness left, to you standing above me
Empowering my hope,
With devotion requited
And a future that stretched far beyond me

Your hands were soft
And the warmth of your smile
Lit fires behind eyes that were lonely
Your taste and your touch
Stretched metres to miles
Giving love. Giving hope. Giving glory

All I wanted was you
All I hoped for was you,
Our lives are a journey together
From season to months
Your strength sees me through
With a love that will last til forever

Janus-faced, she sits in her
Sinister bathing tub
Cleansing herself from
Fallen lovers

The very ones
She devised subtle ends to
Lest they should claim
Her heart for a kingdom

Vandals of her plumage
Whom she allowed
To drink from her stream
Once or twice

A god of vengeance sent her
A message in a bottle today
To prove the origin of her flow
And remind her that time is

Fly-by-night

the transitory nature of
your touch

disconcerting emotions sustained
by memories that stick like dust

i can’t get enough of this-
whatever ‘this’ is

my mind harps on about
your warmth, presence, and kiss

your broken hands grasp mine,
my poisoned lips touch yours;

nothing more than a sad race
to see who succumbs first

to the secret silencing both of us:
subdued, i bite my tongue

‘love’s’ just a synonym for ‘guilt’
and guilt’s the only race that i have won.

Waves speak
to the shore
in rippled verse
scattered shell
strands of kelp

in the sand
each visitor
inscribes a story
sandpiper, wigeon, crow
raccoon, otter, coyote

I read each one
as I write my own