I’m just passing it along,
All has come – to become gone

But for a fleeting instant at most
love is a guest of an eager host

I become aware that sender I must be,
which is how it now arrives with thee

This golden dove, thy gaze, the time
Carried by messenger from the Divine

Over the Bizarre – this cloud passing by –
Is a trader’s exchange across a bartering sky

Tis only suspended by my arresting eye
Then off again, I let it fly

A poem, a song, a painful illness
Ecstatic whirling around the axis of stillness

Gone from gone, as gifts unwrap
What’s given is done, to be given back

Finding it’s way to hand and heart
By hand and heart once had a start

So you who arrive had come before
I saw another close a door

Waiting, a package sent to ourselves
arriving like stars in a hearts black well

I lean over the edge of introspection
Down to dark waters of a captive reflection

In the ripples of light and shadow I see
A present returned, and the present is me

Am I light emitted or light received
Where am I on the wheel of destiny

All I seek is its cycle’s center
Blessed reunion of recipient and sender

God undoes everything
From interstellar crystalline
To keep a distance in between
Each fair feather
in gusting flocks
in shifting weaves
with sequenced wings
numbered bezels of the clock

ripples role in circles, serpentine
spilt in pools of synchrony
beneath the melt of icicles
drop by drop, a metronome
ticks echoes in the vacancy
and tocks within those secret spaces
of snowflakes falling
and that between
a billion stars reflected, all,
in separate eyes that
once had seen until
all light went out in unison
with one wincing blink,
so darkened skies.

Such well planned placement,
where all things converge
into the vacant.
Where all things converge,
Into the vacant.

no god to save us,
no angel to descend from above.
no hymn or prayer,
no superior to call Greater.
humanity is the only faith I believe in,
no heaven or hell to decide sin.

May I ask,
when hands are quaking beneath
an empty winters sun,
palms chapped and a sand paper tongue,

Why you have chosen to wait
in the ceaseless white snow
for a letter?

If you are expecting a lullaby
to appear,
wrapped snug
in the crackle of bubble wrap,
tucked away
in a fold of Manila,

You would be more hopeful
to listen out for a
bare whispering of the melody
upon the frigid wind.

Why you would choose
to stand and wait
on a Sunday when all is clear ice
is beyond me.

May I say,
as your fingers go numb,
I hope it is worth it.

When midnight seeps in
through the panes of my window
And flutters my curtains
with a sinister breath.

I lay in a daze
of chameleons and pearls
The foul taste of nighttime
dampening my tongue.

When it wraps round my toes
and tickles my armpits
And meets my bare lips
with a far to eager kiss.

Returning once more,
me, to imminent darkness
Till I am no more
than moss hidden under the mist

When I was younger people told me not to get lost.
Voices would fly up and catch in the wind and be thrown back to them
as I ran through the wheat towards the blackberries.

While they called for me from a distance, calling to themselves,
I would stain my tongue violet and my fingers purple.
Then run farther away, I’m not sure where. Farther than they made it.

It’s easy for me to run, it’s only me.
When they run, they try to carry all of them.
You have to run alone though, if you want to make it anywhere.

When they reached the blackberries they all held hands
creating a barricade of arms so i couldn’t run away
a barricade of arms for me to break through.

(It’s not nearly as fun to run if there is nothing to hold you back)
(What can you discover, otherwise?)

As I emerged on the other side with my blue stained hands
they stared at my in shocked awe, the barricade broken.
They tried to run after me, but like i said,
you can’t get lost with other people.

So I ran away alone.
Only you can be found.