into ~

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swoon

sweet resurrection
of once sacred light
splinters
the length
of my breath
rolls off the roof
of yesterday’s barn
swept as my prayers
o’er the dew

purple and pale
yellowing truths
none yet
have known how to write
of shadowings chased
til their brilliance

grew still
and day
spoke of night
thru her tears

. . .

for the sake of desire ~

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so it is

fill me
with moments
I have no regard
for the strength of a diamond –
an untested vow

of urgencies pushed
in the dead heat of night
where soft lies
the sigh
of surrender
tis I

speak not of seasons
where heartache was made
or fields sewn by ash
and dismay
spare me to sleep
for the sake of desire
the promise of rest
in your
arms

shush
there’s no need
to complain
of the time
tis nothing worth wasting
by name

this everafter
is all I can give
speak not of morning
til then

. . .

shall ~

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north eternity

of moments
shall I never
know honor more than these
a laureate or something
simply less

or shall I be
forever this –
inspired to these depths
when searching for
the river
is my soul

shall I find
my ways made well
by jasper, slate
and poet –
confined to verse
the solace
I once was

wash my fate
to marble shores
where now my kindred tarry
naught for prize
they wanted –
but words that held
their sway

. . .

places ~

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behind

mercies I’ve known
of more than my share
and places
the world disregards

let them fall
into slumber
let their kind burn away
but for notions and living
so misunderstood

would wish not the knowing
our lives to embrace
or beauty the colors
we’ve not yet
to see

split between ruby and red
and whites the same
virgin
as doves to the sky
in a postcard of Jesus
stood by the sea

would ever these eyes
be meant to recall
the differences
more
than we wanted
to be

. . .

fallen ~

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sorting

of houses now fallen
their wares to define –
numbered my streets
not to know

yet still
they were restless
when nights held me cold
to tempt me with wishing
on stars long ago

of lovers
no longer
and ways sure to part
remembering those
never were

yet mornings
sometimes

I think on us there
and a dog in the yard
rarely barks

tho was ours
as the curtains
we pulled to the side
yellow and shades of purple
you loved

as I left
once you stood
there alone
in the shadows
weeping for chances
cursing the weeds
were grown o’er the numbers
a house falling down

. . .

keepers ~

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mary

long skinny fingers
reach for the sky
swaying in ultimate
bliss –

forgotten the spring
when clothes
where the thing
they bend without burden
of blossom
or leaf

challenged again
for stories they keep
sweet golden rings
in the dark

crossed
and made straight
wrapped each around
another one day
might have fell

delicate song
comes alive
in the breeze –
as harp finds the string
without bow

. . .

when ~

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arrival

when the sunrise
strains to being –
scarlet rinse of consciousness
will then your knees
be broken –
your burden
bowed

when the warmth
that is your body
fails to know you as before –
will you feel the
tender need
to tell
it all

when the path
you thought
would take you home
is taking you no further
than the floor
beside your bed –
already
known

when the moon
has failed to hold you
in the place
where once you dreamed –
will the prayers
you dare to speak
be understood

when the faith
you kept
is strengthened
by wisdom born of love –
will light concede
this setting –
your place
beside the sun

again ~

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sometime somewhere

was one
or ten thousand
as times to recall
where we were
when we started (again)
presence blended
into one by the light –
and passed as thought
to the wind

was a day
or lifetimes
blossomed from tears
the blue
so amazing –
in waters below
we talked without talking
holding and yet
separate for changing
the story (again)

was it left
in our place
as we sat in the shade
that day (one day)
of another
leaves were falling
hands without need
but to trace
where the grain
gave way into word

rainbows
were reaching
your colors to steal
as laughter
fell sweet to my skin

as wonder
I waited
for one more (again)
to hang on
with every goodbye
how many forevers
the turning would come
finding our way
just the same
as before

mapped to our soul
was the ending (again)

of others I’m sure
I’ve forgotten (not one)
as they stir
in the place left of dreams
dear as was ever
another just now
traces of thought
give way
to a smile

(can it be)
love becoming
without need for a time
yet so many
now passed (on the way)
are come
as was fated –
into places I am
as a mark on my heart
of beginning (again)

. . .

language not my own ~

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 languages untouched

lest I be
some other me
and falter in my words –
gathered now
as broken verse to rhyme
else form concede
my soul to write
voices none can hear
of passions –
but a moment
almost mine

suffer me the limits
of a language
not my own
curs’ed dictionary
to repeal –
as witness
to my longing
meanings ne’er the same
lines constrained
forgotten not
to feel –

the blue
within the sorrow
azure
peacock
sky
e’er soft convey
the beauty of a kiss
would grey
the storm remember
smoke above the pines
– eyes the shade of rain
a morning mist

helpless pen
to struggle
where words – so few
remain
as part of me
a purpose undefined
by counted lines
or breaths between
the living and the tell –
a poem
I’m becoming
without a thought
for rhyme

. . .

keepsake ~

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still life

garner these sins
as if there were none
kept in a box
neath the bed

wrapped in brown paper
cellophane sleeves
resistance
so easily mine

guarded acceptance
as once stained the lips
are now but a small
recompense

for stories unwritten
held us in place
with pieces of twine –
and yellowing
tape

. . .