It seems wrong that out of this bird,
Black, bold, a suggestion of dark
Places about it, there yet should come
Such rich music, as though the notes'
Ore were changed to a rare metal
At one touch of that bright bill.

You have heard it often, alone at your desk
In a green April, your mind drawn
Away from its work by sweet disturbance
Of the mild evening outside your room.

A slow singer, but loading each phrase
With history's overtones, love, joy
And grief learned by his dark tribe
In other orchards and passed on
Instinctively as they are now,
But fresh always with new tears.

I’m more prone to the suspense of it all
the not knowing
or the knowing exactly
i don’t know how some people can know so much
we only use an insufficient amount of brain space
we cannot possibly know everything we need to in our lifetime
which leads me to the unknowing
the thinking
the wondering
the beauty of everything that can’t be explained by humans
but can only be explained by nature
the feeling of loneliness at sunset
but the wholeness of a sunrise

~for Jackson C. Frank
It seems almost too far fetched really,
too difficult to believe.
This unassuming moon shining like a copper plate.
These milkcrate blues.
This soft trellis of sound
wobbling through the wind
as if pouring out from the window
of some lonely house on the hill.
How beautiful it is,
the ghost of your voice,
haunting this empty valley.

Do you remember the letters you wrote me?
Messy handwriting scribbling out love onto the paper
Crinkled in spots where your tears had fell
Because we'd cry when we were happy.

Do you remember the rocky dock near the water?
We'd been there two times for the same reason
The start and the end of our relationship
You shaking out of anger
Towards whoever would dare to hurt me.

Do you remember our love?
Me running up to the car each day
Almost as if I hadn't seen you the last.
Driving until we couldn't see anything except
Those high-beams you'd complain about.

Do I still haunt you?
Run into my ghost everywhere in this small town
Make you regret slamming the door in my face
Hiding behind walls with the next thing that showed you compassion

Did your pillows still smell like my hair even after she left?
Tell her stories but they're a carbon copy
She's impressed by your vocabulary
Finally found someone smart


Do you kiss her harder to forget my name?
Forget that I'm the reason her lips are pressed onto yours
Forget that you told me it was the hardest thing you ever had to do
Saying goodbye before you got on that plane
Without kissing my face

In the time it took to read these lines
A million mayflies were born and died
In half a blink of the cosmic eye.

I am itching,
growing out of my skin
and your expectations of me.
I am walking
along city streets
lined with disappointed looks
and littered with broken dreams,
shattered in pieces like mirrors
that reflect
what never could have been.

I am dreaming
About trips with him
To the mountains
Which are tearing the sky
We would walk on those endless serpentines
And I would dream for the sky to cry
Because then the rocks would become slippery
And he would hold my hand.