Trees Weeping

Dreamed of phantom thoughts and rocks
A perfume pallet of broken clocks
Smokey desert's sun ablaze
With midnight birds lost in the days
And I could not tell light from down
Gem mountains floating all around
Trees weeping for their lost starfish
On falling waves, I made my wish
That rubies would all still be blue
And I could sing like opals do
The sapphire sky would drop its net
And capture all that I'd forget.

Half-Spooned

Pushed away
my good-sleep nights

Guardian
at the Gate of Dreams

Holder of the wide-awakes
Holder of me

Uncurled
Unfurled

Half-spooned
Draft-spooned
cold at my back

Wrapped in his nothing

Now they crawl in bold
between awakes and asleeps and heat

Dropping
Danger
and
Dead things

I do not trust the Night
that leaves rendered sheets Unholy

and Dreams not fit for Dreamers

like me.

Still, Dover Beach

The ebb and flow of love,

smooth pebbles tossed

against the shore,

leaves unbelievers lost,

rough tumbled in its roar.

Pale specter of the world,

its shadows fall

on darkling plain;

White cliffs will still loom tall

ere crumbling once again.

And melancholy night

in timeless paths

across the sky,

are stilled by lovers' words

though long centuries pass them by.

For rivers of our time

still interweave
with currents past;
Covenants conceived,
collected like sea-glass.

One note hangs in the air:

the channel's cry

at end of day,

voluminous with life

before its sweet decay.

And there still hangs the moon,                                 
on Dover's tide,

its plaintive song;                                               
Eternal notes abide.

Sea of faith still moves as strong.

Old Sophocles could hear

the voice of time

within the spray;

And now the voice is mine,

lest my words be washed away.

The ebb and flow of time,

a love sea- tossed

against the strand,

retreat and then return,

back to the moon-blanched land.

      

Somewhen Between

I'm somewhen between

the veil and the day

the color of singing,

the cool sound of blue ~

Somewhere I lean

against breath of the sky

and touch the horizon

that curls into you ~

Sometime I gather

the scent of my dreaming

and fold up the night

in pockets of sand ~

Then sweep up the notions

that rain from the darkness,

tumbling like fire

to the palm of my hand ~

Vertices

I
keep 
you in this
triangle with me –
it is a closed figure, true.
And why not a circle? Here, we can 
find our place in all things & meet at vertices ~ 
or retreat to our own side and look
across forever into each others’
eyes. We can know a true
beginning place. Then
know an ending.
And it will
be ex
act.