Substrate

31 days:  

long enough

to find you again.

Diving in,

there is silence,  

darkness

sinking further,  

below  

the threshold  

but always the light above -

tracking,

if only faintly -

cloudy streaks  

through paned glass,

holding you there,  

waiting for the moment  

you emerge  

and find air  

Words

I fear 

running out of words  

and understand  

now what it means

to be a conduit,

an instrument, 

a match -

rather than a tap

turned off or on.

Or could it be

that pictures  

moved right in  

where words once were -  

the eviction  

noiseless, overnight? 

Most likely

it was just a brief holiday:

a clock with moveable  

hands

tacked to the door- 

Back at 2:00

Ask

When you know

the words you're poised

to throw

will win you the game,

the whole entire moment  -

ask yourself

if this is what

you want to leave,

hanging like last year's

apple on a black 

still branch, 

Or if you'd  

rather  

look up

silent

together  

at the clear  

bright sky of stars? 

There's a space  

between moments:  

an imperceptible  

pause  

within which  

all our peace  

lives

I fly

Is anyone  

really surprised

how jarringly the

tide has turned?

We pushed so far  

towards light,  

there was no choice

but to crash,

to sink down,

go under.  

I do what I do -

I fly.

I'm not sure  

if it's strength

or blindness.

but my soul  

can't bear

to look into

those vacant

unseeing

eyes

Chasm

I'm just me,

And it's taken this long

to fully know

It's all

I'll ever be.

Can we truly

reach across  

to an other?

Or are we 

shadows 

side by side  

a long

uninterrupted  

dream?

Like simple  

creatures

with permeable  

skin,

we do merge,

we can receive  

the gifts  

another 

gives -

Like colors  

blending:

lavender or rose,

Slowly pulled away

from

murky muddy

brown.

(I know, that's how

we started,

but we worked

our colors

year after year  

and here we are:

the finest shade of  

emerald 

anyone could 

have imagined)

Circles

I drove in circles -

roads ending,  

twice

circling again,  

unsure if this was the same 

path I just crossed

a short time ago,

technology  

failing me, 

laughing at my plight  

until I just stopped.

I wish I could tell you

that this was a dream

but I was awake and circling  

with many other  

lost birds,  

as the butterfly  

flapped it's wings  

Muse

Soft silence

unexpected

and yet  

full of sound  

if you listen

deeply

is there light

in darkness? 

motion

in stillness? 

I'd guess yes

everything is here

at all times  

and in no time 

at all

Wonder

Imagine

we had  

nothing to say -  

the world would  

spin on,

as we stood still,

clouds skimming,

sky 

wondering

at the blue of it,  

knowing we were

told once,

and instead of clicking 

on the answer,

leaving ourselves  

to wonder,  

to remember what it feels like  

not to know

Breathe

Back

In the fishbowl,

up against  

glass -

I used to feel

sad for their 

wide staring eyes. 

Then I learned 

they don't know

where they've been

before, 

as long as they're  

In water,  

as long as they

can breathe.

What if 

we had 

such fluidity?

Inertia

Not sure  

if I should fight you,

or accept  

the invitation

to sink deeper

into this nest,

like the squirrels  

wrapped in leaves.  

The rain 

pours down, 

harder still.

I will the trees  

and hills

to stay where  

they are,  

as the light returns  

and the land

comes slowly

back  

to life  

Stream

It has to go somewhere,

all this liquid

you thought you

could contain -  

until of course  

it broke,  

your face burning

with  shame,

knowing it was  

always too late,  

but then  

imagining the stream 

connecting  to river

and pouring  

into ocean,

and you

finally exhale  

Warrior

Have I been hiding

behind these pretty words?

I'm making marks on this page

which means I'm alive.

Perhaps not the way I'd imagined 

but now and here, 

as real as the rain,

as cold as tiny arrows

on my scalp,

my upturned palms.

Why have I resisted this,

yet keep coming back to 

this same place

over and over,

humbled by the task at hand,

Manawee returning.

I surrender,

yet stand before you,

perfectly ready.

Warrior:

bloody and still 

whole

Lost

Circling  

like a lost bird.

actually I don't think  

birds get lost -

they seem to be

constantly looking

for things:

food, each other

the perfect tree for

that finely built nest -

across yellow fields,

filled with endless  

purpose,  

while we stand there  

watching on the ground

with 

ironic wonder

but with freedom

in the stillness

on the ground.

Weather

The light

dims

and flickers

periodically.

I'm caught here

on the rough edges,

not knowing exactly

who I'll be

at any given moment -

which me.

And I just wait it out

like this storm

and the next ones

close behind,

at least according to the

ever changing color map.

There are days 

we just need to stay

inside.

I can only thank my stars

that the map keeps on

moving, like the clouds it 

represents.

I know that others

are not near as lucky

as that.

21 Years

Our relationship 

is old enough to drink.

I'd never thought of it

as its own being -

separate from us,

the two of us mixed together.

But there was

wide-eyed wonder,

adolescent rage,

spaces spent drifting,

and now

the strength

of a foothold,

reaching the crest

where the whole

wide earth stretches

out, filling the canvas

yellow, red, orange,

the exact hue that

it should be

Pure Life

That day the rain came down

like diamonds.

Waterfalls crashed, 

raining down even more

jewels.

Birds of every color

lifted and soared , screamed

above the untouched

dense and sleepless 

carpet

somewhere far below.

It's that tiny high pinging

I remember most,

mixed with the frogs

and who knows how many kinds

of formidable insects,

always cutting through

as the instruments get thicker,

building and cresting,

and we see the lights 

and stop for the night.

Evolution

The lens 

gets smaller,

fills up

with fine details

I would never have seen

just a short distance back.

If you frame the same patch 

of sky with your hands every day

you'll see the slight shifts of color

evolving and morphing

with the careless white streaks

and tumbling shapes -

always new, 

always here,

right above you.

Souls

Invisible

In the warmth of day,

in darkness,

scattering, 

forming again.

Stars play

with planets and

satellites,

tiny duck heads

bob black

across the waves,

washed down from the river

by the storm,

each having left us,

safe in their place,

tucked back into

the order 

of things.

OOO

Hello

stack of books,

jar of brushes,

sunrise,

thoughts floating past.

I have asked a certain someone

to take a vacation -

he needs a break

and so do we.

Tomorrow

I might 

throw some color around,

wander through

the mud-soaked trees.

It's not that we don't 

appreciate 

all his good intentions,

it's just that 

we can all use a break

sometimes.

What we Choose

I've heard that there are

no wrong choices

That we are here

only to learn

what we cannot

in whatever paradise

we came from,

since there is no conflict

there, no rough edges,

no contrast,

only perfect endless joy and light.

But we cannot know it

without learning first 

what if feels like to be in these bodies

with these raw bleeding fading

hearts and minds

these ever so real and touching

stories