We yearn for control.
Splashing and swimming,
in an ever-changing current.
It will decide when to crash,
when to pull us under,
or let you ride to stable shore.

Everything gets caught,
in this current, even time.
Reflecting yourself,
in glass-like calm.
Or in angry gray waves,
where you’ve lost your reflection,
yourself...

How often do we strive,
for calm waters?
How often do we predict,
the tides?
How often do we think,
of hurricanes?

Why not just go,
for the ride?

He stands near the trees,
places a hand upon them and feels their dying breath,
The final sigh
as leaves circle, drifting to the ground,
a blanket on the forest floor.
Take off your hat, lonely boy
and mourn another year's passing.
The wind will scatter him like the leaves,
blowing him far from home,
far from the place where his heart lies.

I am a mountain,
reaching upwards.
And you,
you are the stars,
and the sky
that I can only
ever wish
to touch.

I am a mountain,
in league with bards.
And you,
you are the stars,
and the sky.
Crash into me,
oh how
I long
for such.

Tumbling down mountains
through long and sharp grass,
I find
that the dew I’ve gathered
is of little consequence
to the stars
I’ve pondered
above.

Yet I still find myself
glancing skyward
as I gather speed,
wondering
if they’re
watching
and hoping
I might catch
their eye.

When the moon retires running her length
the river lies a fishbone on the white plate
feebly breathing like the slosh from oars,
the shadow digs a hole in the bush.

The faintest chill rattles don't escape
and the chatters dull as broken notes,
the shadow picks up from the mist
with the intent of an absorbed dreamer.

The gold diggers in that forbidden land
filter their preys keen to fill some more
from the mines lining the grey riverbank
with each reap a little closer to attainment.

The precise compass weighs the measure
tightening the muscles into a symphony
for that climb onto the ****** in one spring
before stealing the stilled, deep into silence.