coming back to go ~

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strayed

traces
have been noticed
by those who strayed behind
letters wrote –
reminders to the day
laurel spilling over
one more spring
is passed
petals almost bloomed
 to fade away

of time
I have no mem’ry
of the coming back to go –
roads I walked
and some I stayed
the night
curved against a highway
warmed against the dark
miles between
the falling down
to dream

. . .

destinies recast ~

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bliss

there’s a strangeness
to becoming –
from imprints of the past
a truth made strong
(by little lies)
as destinies recast

in azure blue
reflection
before the moon was lost
shadows split the night
(with memory) –
as stars uncrossed

by the weight
of desperation
were longing (eternal)
come to rest –
hopes are rearranged (by one desire)
and held by less

a fleeting proposition
unremembered by design –
dreams returning
(carried by the soul)
are of one
divine

. . .

what we don’t ~

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near

Stillness speaks in words
I seldom hear
candles burn – scented yesterday.
The sweetest night was past
from places dear
another time – a place I might have stayed.
But silence knows the song
I sing –
barefoot in the dark,
waltzing past the moon while others doze –
closer to forever than the stars.

Was once confessed but met
with disbelief;
we’ve forgotten what it means to dream.
Caught in papers – there the evening news;
everything (and nothing) as it seems.
But I’ve discovered
hope in discontent,
moments found me lucid (eyelids closed).
Simple prayers I never spoke aloud
are whispered soft –
communion, no one knows.

From silver wings
that flicker on the lawn
past the purple glow of Al Jabba,
I’ve met ten thousand more
that have no names –
history betrayed their moment’s mark.
But for the dreamer,
once had walked alone
another shining moment we forgot –
caught in memory
and written there
time may have forsaken,
but we have not.

Between the ticks of ten and two,
all I am is come for me.
Twilight pulls the mortal world to bed,
and I pretend to let
the veil of slumber fall around
were only I so willing to
be led.
Would pass between the shadows
cast by misery and want
would rest and wake tomorrow —
nothing strange.
Complacency is petals wept
before the blackest swan;
hands are stopped –
eternity is changed.

And there, across the table
a familiar face,
eyes are met with knowledge
of the truth.
Presence finds assurance
in the noonday sun –
coincidence, a world denied the proof.
A fleeting smile, a knowing laugh,
secrets shared by strangers
candles burn – scented yesterday.
The sweetest night was past
from places dear
another time – a place I might have stayed.

Silence knows the song
I sing
barefoot in the dark,
waltzing past the moon while others doze,
closer to forever than the stars.

Closer to forever
than the stars.

. . .

flutes ~

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crisp

caught me
from swaying
beneath a new sky
– hemmingway hands
took me home
fell to my musing
the laughter of flutes –
an instrument
tied from still broken
strings

listen
I pleaded –
hear me unsaid
as the passing
of ten thousand birds
thru the still
the tremor of longing
forgotten our ways –
as a path
born of will
to go on

prophet
and heron
crickets made song
of a darkness defined
 by the passing
of time –
morning held back
by the leaving
(don’t go)
and music let out
by a sigh

. . .

no place ~

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momentssweet

there are words
that have no place
like burning and the sun
like autumn and the day where leaves
still scatter
that place
tho far away
is not so very far
where wide awake
the best of the dreams are real
where love is all
but hurts no less
sadness eased by wonder
and held as near
as when the ink was freshly
left to page
when leaves were green
the sun
was in your eyes

. . .

times we let ~

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notionsofflightlonging sleeps
in soft percale –
with tiny yellow flowers
a shade of thin
are threads already known

as paths
beyond this lowly state –
counted more by grace
life come round
to living us again

as sewn beneath a ruffle
of gentle disregard
for times
we let –
and times we couldn’t go

held before the daylight
wrapped in yesterdays
– quilted patch
of love me more
goodbyes

screen door
opened wide enough
to let all reason fly
the universe we
gathered –
in sheets
of soft percale

. . .

purple ink ~

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echoes

to wander once again
to my beloved
Shangri-La
where memories
of a voyage are still sketched
within imaginary fields
of lavender orchids
notebook in hand
impatient this becoming –
to pinpoint sweet names on the map
places where I may calmly dream
of exile months
between poet and muse
places to wander desolate paths
to collect
all the beauty
that will heal my soul
of its earthly temptations
at last
showing my ghosts
that purple ink
on faded pastel paper
is my own power
tethered by eyes and ears
to a world –
far beyond the heavens
and the words

. . .

whisper ~

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reclaimed

I must whisper carefully
else my brokenness belie –
my heart will not be silenced
by the murmur of goodbye

I miss your tender lines
your poems of the morrow
of truth – a balm forgotten
to the weeping sighs of sorrow

sweet prisoner remember
e’er november winds remain
with the telling of forever –
every season passed again

time may still this longing
of promise without measure
a moment so endearing –
so carefully I whisper

. . .

patterns ~

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how fragile
our returning –
for time to cease to be
where sorrows
wash an ocean to the sea
patterns of remembrance –
where moments fell
between
love was ever meant
to be
this way

as shells
along an ancient path
some distance from the shore
broken as the sailor
wandered home
tiny bones –
as silver fins
are written to each leaf
stories of a journey
never known

. . .

flannel ~

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hopebuds
soft as a flannel
of redbud and sage
innocence found
by the coming of age
by the breath of blackberries
burst on the vine
and stained by the memory
– a passing of time
into seasons forsaken
by change
unforeseen
as a blanket of winters
traded for green

. . .