A rush of water reminds me of night
Something, I can see but…
is vacantly out of sight.
Dark as it may be,
the earth blankets me.
It covers me with luminescent sky.
Warning me to,
look behind words.
To pull truth from starred gods and…
listen in silence…
to be heard.
This love affair with mother nature has been such as,
a blind date.
a sideways glance from a well versed stranger.
Hints of dodging raindrops.
Nights when paths cross
dreams are caught.
Just a private conversation between the night crawlers…and, I.
As the sun wakes its weary head…mirrored reflections on mistakes made.
Holes bored into my soul.
Curled in upon itself…divots, to which I dare no enemy tread.
Modern day judgment comes often.
Frequently it is swift.
Always it is free.
I could tap love on her slender, shoulder.
But I appreciate that she not know such demons exist.
For what it is worth
I see you when I climb the stairs a midst stark twilight.
Your dauntless task given unto an endless flight.
A vision of tolerance and safety.
Kindness and dignity.
A shimmering arc focused on what is here.
A dark side to what is not there.
Can you fix me?
Whiling the while…
cradling ‘of unknown origins’…above the street?
Rest assured I’ve cleaned hell.
It left me in a
‘poor me’ spell.
Days, months, years…
stuck in the glare.
Rummaging in the attic…
drunk and blind…
looking for a purpose, a meaning, maybe a sign.
Now, feral moon, as time becomes,
a whimper and a whim…
As life goes bump in the night…
as it often will.
The dark shadows, the bolted attic door, the childish folk lore’s…
beg the question, once more.
What is IT out there?
One step down from the top of the stair?
IT used to be the monsters sight unseen.
Sometimes, I know, as I do now,
IT is only in a dream.
“If winter calls should I answer?” mother had asked.
Her words such as peeled back bark.
Earthy and sublime, a slow pouring wine.
The volume of her sentences were never said…in moderation.
It is four in the morning and I am awoken to hanging on.
What ground had just been broken?
How many more sleepless black and white moments, sullen and justified, would this go on?
Ashen, Irish, ashes all that was left in the morning.
When memories woke up.
my nights, a shallow grave
what are these thoughts…that have not forgiven me
as time diminishes into time
I find a stranger in my mind
what are these transformations that live within me
images and proclamations have become a corn maze
my soul holds on for first light…to give the devil his due
I am inclined to shelter in place
awakened, I must walk, however…
if only to renew