I KNOW THAT PLACE

I have a pocket of tied threads, gathered colors from shirts, parts of old coats, hats, the cuffs of pant legs scrapping roads, the front of hats like cross hairs pointing my head to someplace and from gloves that don’t match, pieces of reminders to count and remember the place they were freed, now protected

PIECES

the story within a song a passing face the sound of your name a closing door morning rain first falling leaves last summer day the other glove soft side of a hand a spring wreath an old letter favorite shoes the chance for again the sun absorbing rain the cat that came back a road … More PIECES

MAKING A WAY

Crossroads provokes idleness back to life   perforated clouds bless the land painting moving shadows tickling the infinite underground into jealousy   the past becomes reflected on walls of thoughts opening dark caves and mountains missed   just up ahead there’s a hole in the sky where kites exhaust the air and lost gloves return … More MAKING A WAY

LOOK HERE

I found a glove folded behind a chair opening it as if it were alive I expected it to reach for my hand leading pointing guiding me to a safer place, places we visited where hands waved hello and goodbye   I laid it on the table alone, like me hoping your return will reunite … More LOOK HERE