THE PARTS WE FEAR

his face, locked in the evidence of a traveled soul inner sufferings surfaced as disturbed currents threads from his past acted as an anchor, pulling him back from the edge of his unknown parts

IRON STEPS

between irregular smooth surfaces there’s a gray area like the space between butterfly wings, valuable and gifted, delicately curved, bending with motion, rejecting gravity while breaking the bonds of what holds us back

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

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CROSSING THE LINE

there’s another place a city road leading to the edge where red roses color a meadow and a forest line provides a crooked path, like an open door, unseen, but known to wanderers, owning the sense of the line crossed over, where shadows are honored like myself to have been there once

BREATHING OUT

the house was a fire of voices   a child on the front porch sang a song about water and boats   floor boards language inner travel from room to room   burnt evening skies brushed the house with setting shadows as night breathes out a deep sigh of quiet

FOR JUST A MOMENT

he crosses all seasons,   jagged paths stitched to paper maps   past meadows cleared by hands   towns with forgotten names iron fence posts empty buildings exhausted like a defeated fighter   one more corner and another, following after like a wheel off balance, desiring a warm cup of coffee to heal the wounds … More FOR JUST A MOMENT

THAT WAY

before evening there’s an afternoon asleep   a recipe of gathering, irresponsibility   street corners the city breathes then exhales a boxcar moaning steel   old faces disturbed that youth is wasted as age burns the fire out then points to the past laughing infrequently wondering what’s left   digging into empty pockets   going … More THAT WAY

THE STEPS OF MOVING ON

It was an occasion for suspicion a strange arrangement searching for a solemn confession among a pastel of voices like the comma between two good thoughts of invading serpents and invading dreams where the best of plans are assembled for a traveler born wounded to find a way under a keyboard of passing clouds  

HALF SMILE

Rodeo days slip into his dreams   he owns a crooked walk from a youth of injuries   unshaven   a tipped hat frayed collar faithful jeans boots full of stories   wrinkles honor him of places forgotten and doors left open   dogs watch him without growling as he moves on.       … More HALF SMILE