request

dear spirit of mine, flowing over mossy stones

watering golden roots, seeking a way back to the ocean

please fill my fingers so i might offer a hand in love.

and fill my eyes that they might well in the face of beauty.

and drown my lungs that the only words to escape my lips,

are the those to satisfy the thirsty.

dear spirit of mine, let the room be flooded,

leaving you and me and everything that might be,

yearning for the light

so that we might grow lush and green and fruiting.

birth

the breath, the blood, the body

tower of wind, and rain, and mud

built upon words of ocean and earth

to lift me into the sun

recovery

i was chasing words which spoke a convenient truth \

running after illusions that said they loved me \

trying to catch up to a place that was never here \\

peony

those pastel colors

vibrant and faded

like a happy memory

frostnip

under the ice the stream is still flowing

your lips brush the back of my neck,

the snow crunches muffled beneath our feet.

and for an intimate moment all I hear is the earth breathing,

a somber breath of one who sleeps deeply.

two of hearts

he stands at the rising tide, water gushing from his hands

a thread flows from her chest to his.

a line of magnetism connecting one to the other.

two thorns pierce between her shoulders,

placed to keep the spring from blooming;

and two boulders choke his breath

placed to keep the river from flowing.

but now the room is flooded,

and grass covers the walls,

visions washed away and replaced with a new eden.

melody

someplace along the way, the mountains stopped to greet us.

and someplace along the way, the grass stopped to meet us.

and along that path, the birds came to sing for us

while the church-bells came to ring for us.

and somewhere along the way, you stopped for me and prayed.

you stopped and blessed me with your love

something more than words can say, you gave a piece of you to me

and as our paths go a separate way, i pray that peace will lead you—

lead you to the arms of love,

arms even more divine than those you shared with me.,

autopsy

unto you follow the fever (a choice):

the familiar feeling of grass and the stove filled with pictures and whispers

gathering sawdust and boxes

enough to last eternity in that lighthouse where we leave our prophets.

daisies

fascination gasping under the waves of a receding dream

and for a brief second a glimmer of something complete—

my passion aches to consume this formlessness

and satiate her restlessness.

but all i can do is cower at the scent of dread lingering in the air,

denying that something precious was lost.

spirits

the pines sway as Wind rushes through their gentle needles

she laughs as snow lifts off their branches eager to play;

being in these mountains, and this forest, i can’t but help imagine never leaving.