A GRAY MORNING
The vanity of the ground was altered by a morning rain. the meadow trembled under the wetness pulled from the sky a linen gray horizon without sound slept overhead.
The vanity of the ground was altered by a morning rain. the meadow trembled under the wetness pulled from the sky a linen gray horizon without sound slept overhead.
Disturbed waters are the evidence of youths seeking a smooth belonging; searching to square off the circle. They are dreamers between rocks, pushing from a hard place, attempting to re-create the beginning without pain, escaping the fires between the lines. Fingers bait the eyes into corners. Second chances come at a cost. Seek to … More SEARCHING
The official opening of day lifts the blinds off night. The worms Of dreaming feast on the history of sleep, devouring the angels that attempt to free me. A warm fresh breeze softens morning. People in cars search for fields, escaping the wickedness of the game of where they should be. Its easier for the … More MEDIUM WELL
Rectangles with souls. Windows lined like soldiers. Sounds in the head. Fog rises but never into a storm. Dogs walking as if they know where they’re going. Fast steps lead to a corner bar where No one’s ship comes in; liquid languages spoken here. Everything appears in slow motion. It’s easier to remember when … More CITY WALKING
IT’S COMING There’s a change developing without permission. It alters life and space. Oceans, sky, and rivers all submit to the oncoming of seasons. Summer is the briefest of children, Fading in the infancy of its beginning. Warm air and onshore breezes tease us between showers. Fall changes green into orange … More IT’S COMING
MIDNIGHT PASSED My town sits quiet. The sun has bled out. Blinds are tight. Dog chase cats in their dreams. Stop lights blink red. A billion stars hold silent over our spinning planet. Winds have muscled to another place. Cool air yawns onto lawns and weeds. Dew weeps without crying. The history of … More MIDNIGHT PASSED
WHERE I STAND Since childhood I’ve stood here, looking out as if waiting for something to appear. We are shorelines. Pressed by waves of thoughts, touched by winds of words, yet we feel safe in the safety of an eventide flow. We gather at sunset, remembering farewells while shading our eyes … More WHERE I STAND
A low wind without voice brushed the small third story window where she looked out. The ocean, not far away, lay clam like a lion dreaming of the hunt. Her bed, unmade. Covers tossed, evidence of nights trappings and the places in-between. She whispers a psalm from waking lips. Coffee completes the eyes … More The Next Step
A germ in the air, a color of motion weaving song of dance in a field where winds lift summer while holding hands with short seasons. The life of the ocean presses out an Egyptian blue, splashing ankles captured in sand where smiles reflect like diamonds. Long clouds, the ones like blankets lay … More DREAMING
I know a road of dust and wind, open at both ends, encouraging dreamers and people with maps who set out to far places, never sure when they’ve arrived. I look both ways at the distance equal to the left and right where footsteps mark a passing along with a horse and dog. … More UP AHEAD