puddles

rivers
stuck on asphalt
watch the mourning mist that
wakes a tender wave:
mellow ruffles swimming in the
depths of watered rifts,
cobblestone collections of the rain

green grows in the open breath
but sleeps half-open in the clouds, and
blue chants the sky stretching
here to melt the colors binding

the whisper streets tread the
gentle quiet--the murmured town of
grey dust shimmer.
muted strikes against the pavement
hum their thousand mumbles, lifting
somnolent strides, blinking
yellow thunder

above its broken ballad
floats a diary to the wind
"search the shy sun," dreams its words in
brighted hues, but water paints the
pages damp to hush the thoughtful ink

yet
a pair of valiant boots
pint-sized and young,
animate the sunken raindrops,
vanish beneath the surface-skimmed.
drizzles dance on puddles settling and
ripples climb the air and swell
but between the the liquid whirls and
rubber leaps

who
        stirred
                     first?

vines

There is a house on darkened streets,
Whose wounded walls resound with secrets deep
It throbs yet echoes none; silence in
Its veins unwinds undone

In its aches old sorrow coughs, like
Weeds its thorns descend the dusk
Crooked roses choking frames of wooden doors
Broken whispers twist on shattered floors

But beneath the planks a forest grows
Its leaves alight with gentle glow
Soil perfumed with ancient air
Twirls thick with kindness planted bare

With glimmer green its promise blooms
Young sprouts murmur loud typhoons
Tender-winded voice like distant tales of lore
Breathes soft to heal the swollen soul

Unjust.
The universe is so unjust.

http://www.kaleo.org/news/uhm-s-annie-runland-killed-by-truck-accident/article_d4abe2ea-ae55-11e3-bd2c-001a4bcf6878.html

I'm so sorry, Annie. So sorry.

Black Suprematic Square
Kazimir Malevich

s u s p e n d

w o u n d  t a n g l e  a g o n y  c h o k e  b l o o d   b r e a k   g r a v e  s u f f e r  d r o w n   b r e a t h  t e a r   d e a t h   h e a v y a c r i d  f a t a l   h a t e d e s t r o y s o u n d  d a r k n e s s  l i g h t  a c h e  s t a b  h e a r t  b u r s t  s u n  g r a c e  l i f e   b e a u t y h o p e  s o u l  t r a n s c e n d  f l o a t  b l o o m f r e e  h e a l m e n d  e t h e r e a l  a i r  s i n g   t r a n s l u c e n t b i r t h  r a d i e n t b l o s s o m g e n t l e f a t h e r m o t h e r n u r t u r e h o m e r e s t p e a c e l o v e

fragments

4/4/13

Sometimes silence is the sweetest
music. The turning spokes of my
bike, the night wind blowing, the gentle hum
of faraway cars. This is the music of memory.
It connects deeply to something I cannot
possibly describe. Like the passing footsteps
of a stranger, this thought lingers but then is
gone, and I am lost from that fragrance
only to be found by this present world. I keep
biking, because the movement somehow helps
my thoughts flow.

. . .

On this corner, the light glows strangest. It is
soft in the blanket of the night, the air
gently pulsing with a quietness that
heals my heart...

. . .

God, was I Your dream? That
You desired me before creation
burst in birth and light?
And how, in earth's mosaic, patterns of faces,
have I been found exceptional — unique?
If my life is the result of two unified
bodies, a mass of cells and neurons and atoms,
a product of aleatorical picking when my
genes and chromosomes mingled... but You
say You thought of me, You think still?
Who am I? That You would watch me
grow, bones in my skin and knots
in my hair, bruised shins and dirt-stained knees?

What are the feelings You feel in Your
heart? If I am made in Your likeness, and
my nostalgia brings me pain, does Your heart
ache with beauty too? Is my longing pointing
to a deeper truth, when You say I was
made for knowing, to be known, to be loved?

Poem for a friend

Night falls around you
veiled and barely breathing. It
is frail, fledgling, frigid
folding darkly these black sheets
Winter air to grasp your shoulders,
it sighs like restless wind
soughing sadly, softly-scattered, crying
cold and alone
But hope glows in the
lantern of your soul
Darling, you wear Light and
still Mercy grows
Awake as a song in this
furnace of dark, your heart
is an ocean, your eyes glance the stars
You are golden and true, child
golden and true; you have
sun in your bones dancing
joyous and full
And against the cruel lair of
bitter despair, look within to
your ribs, hear the Lion’s brave roar
Fiercely daring, you ride upon
waves gleaming sparks; no matter the
depths, find your Grace bold and stark.
Have hope, friend.
Have hope.