as if the sun carried stars
and the moon
danced with shadow
or your smile
meant the joke
it once
implied
the way we wandered
through the streets
of a city left by
rome
holding flowers
in damp palms
limp with longing
.
.
.
because shedding your skin
is just as necessary
as gathering hips
for the tea
you sip
from the cup
of yesterday’s
parody
.
.
.
.
the best place to be
.
.
.
Happy Valentine’s Day, Mr. M.
.
.
.
And Happy Valentine’s Day to you.
Because celebrating love is always a good thing.
.
.
.
i have ornaments older than i am
glass as thin as petal
reflecting the history of countless
christmas mornings
and endless summers
hid away
in the dark
more fragile than any egg
yet here they are
still whole
.
the simple mystery of time
is so damn complicated
.
but the whispers of love
they are wrapped in
allow them
to survive
.
.
.
whether it arrives head on
in a line straight as time
or comes at you
from all directions
curving gently around each bend
.
bask in the glow
.
I’ll take deep shadows
and the light that causes them
over the blank-faced wall
of forgettable grey
any day.
.
.
.
november’s first wind
stripping leaves from tall trees
in a violent flurry
of release
.
Already, I find myself taking green for granted.
It’s hot, hot out there, and the landscape has changed from the yellow green of spring to the grey green of summer.
I try to remind myself how much I will crave this green come February, but I also remind myself that human nature drives us forward–always, always–into what’s next. We have such a hard time standing in place and embracing what’s there before us.
I accept this as truth even as I try to change it. I pick bits of time from vine and branch, and savor them like wine. I remind myself how precious every moment is, but just like anything you have enough of, I assume there will always be one more. And another, and another and another.
I try to find the balance between my own pragmatic mind and the ticking of the clock.
And then some days I don’t think about any of this at all, because it’s summer, and really, all I need is to soak up some sunshine.
We are always growing, always setting seed, always reaching for the light. I don’t care so much about trying to control any of it any more, I am happy to just let it happen. I don’t take any path at all, I just wander towards whatever strikes my fancy, with dirty feet and blistered toes.
I always end up in the same place anyway, here, beneath this same old golden sun.
My green eyes match the horizon just now, and if you don’t look too hard, you might not even see me.
But I’ll be out there, wandering, until winter brings me home.
