MORNING,

walks the perimeter of fire, beginning    the journey or voyage as wide prairie thoughts walk in without obstruction, self inventing today’s challenge, stirring within a ballad of an open field as you set out until the habit of a faithful evening of stars and moon encourage our rest

DESPERATE

the lost know how to be found they are the dust of failures and the chance for success they court the sun worship the moon and question the shadow following behind they hum an unfamiliar song remembering parts and the parts offered up for another try at something, anything

DISTANCE

he stretched to the moon his hand, fingers pointing into unknown fathoms with an ethereal line breaking beyond gravity and limits as he stood on the soil of his part of the earth looking up into the dark and black tempting, taunting the distance from her to there in defiance 

INSIDE VOICE

the gray of shadow light bending, fragments of words like wrought iron angel wings kneeling within a drizzle of mist surrounding trees shed of leaves, desperate against seasons strength, fail to retain the youth of spring and summers shade the moon rises strong, casting a glance over night

THE DARK SIDE

THE DARKSIDE of the moon hiding its face kindred spirits fastened by a line separating the extremes of fire and ice where time has no standard on surfaces without life static suspended gravity dependent, one side bright the other facing backward with a silent view of undisturbed infinity

FIRST SIGHT

morning on the eyes breathing without trying, feet to the floor, a moon landing arriving, stretching like canvas dried in the sun watercolors of the room observed the mirror of truth exposes the shades of a face preparing to change washing and then leaving

SINGLE LIGHT

a back stairway beyond stars and night clouds   cracked stone steps rise to a stained faded door half screen the other part wood singing with rust when opening and failing to close when shut   gazing up the ascending stairs there’s a light at the end of a twisted cord swinging like a dead … More SINGLE LIGHT

A TOUCH OF MEMORY

tall pines line the side of the road to the shoreline where rocks lay scattered, black and gray, smooth from millennial washing   it’s a place held tight to the chest, spoken of only in memory when skies are alive with color and few words are spoken   but night remembers  

JUST ME

solitary,   being alone when surrounded,   mourning without tears,   reliving the past while believing the first words of the relationship can be repeated   remembering when pockets were full of sun and moon reflecting the glass of a calm ocean as birds swarmed overhead proving miracles did exist