These Lessons

These lessons we learn
Are counted,
In not so many strokes.
We think to be wiser,
We think to be grown.
But the winds will blow,
And the clouds will cover.
And we will continue to gaze
On the memory of stars,
Long ghosts.
Which will continue to shine
For our children.
Who will smile upon them
And imagine that they are new,
And meant for them.
Not imagining the black void;
Not understanding,
The warm breezes of a storm.

sadness, for real

So surprising how opaque.
Fear
of the dark.
Fear
of consuming.
So surprising how it quakes.
Sick
in my middle
Sick
of consuming.
So surprising to feel
Sadness, for real.

I lend out My Soul

Looking back,
My heart has hands
To carry to crawl
To you.
I'd stop to pick up every crumb
In the wide expanse between us
But looking back
A scarecrow lies in the grass
And the birds will come
Looking Back
Is not what I do
I lend out my soul
And get none of you.

A Lovenote for the Paperclip

I love you
For being who you are.
There is no need
To draw out your lines,
Your figure,
Strength and style,
Though you have all of these
And more.
There is no matter of purpose,
Nor of any benefit to me.
I love you for being;
I love you for existing,
At all.

Reach

I cannot reach my hands
I look down at the tips of me
I look down at the ends
but all remains what's left behind
a tricking of the light
They must be mine
These things,
that trail behind
because I watch the ghost
reach out
and see where skin and black
are not

Shadow's Tail

walking along the sun
my shadow rises from me.
the sun glancing over my shoulder
pulls at slender fingers;
breathing between the spaces.
I see the silhouette
of a slung bag
and a dark sweep
across my shoulders.
Looking up at my shadow
I wind back to the embarking,
and wonder if it shouldn't
be the other way around?

A Sick House

I never knew the taste of home
could taste so much of vomit
in my throat.
I never knew that missing it,
could make my heart lose sleep.
swimming to get back,
reaching to get back;
I retch at the hole inside me,
burning at the whisps
of things left behind.
I never knew the taste of home
Could make myself so small;
and all that's left is
black and soft.
It chokes me with revulsion.

A Dress Called Poet

This closet is lined
with walls with lines,
So quiet,
I press them in my palm.
so quiet i take them with me.
A dress i wear,
beneath the Homespun truth;
And no one dares to breathe
the Name;
so quiet.
Inside my dreams these walls are white,
and smoke curls up my collar;
the poet burning up my skin,
her ashes at my feet.

The Birds I've Burned

These winter branches are too thin to hold the birds I've burned.

Their soft white wings are singed with smoke like all my memories old.

I open up my ears to flocks of wings never returned.

The woodsman kisses blade to bark with all the stripes I've earned,

We stand in line, wait quietly, while he takes our daily toll.

These winter branches are too thin to hold the birds I've burned.

The whistle wind holds no songs, in all the sounds I've learned.

My limbs despise their burden light; they strangle empty hold.

I open up my ears to flocks of wings never returned.

My smiling faces once with feathers now with bones discerned

The golden new and silver old are given to smoke; sold.

These winter branches are too thin to hold the birds I've burned.

The warm days in dreams conjured; now morning has adjourned.

Now sheltered in the skeleton of branches bare and bold,

I open up my ears to flocks of wings never returned.

May I

Sister may I

Take two big steps.

May I wear your clothes,

Just the ones

You don't really use

Anymore.

Sister may I

Take a run through the forest,

Take your room;

Now that you've grown

You don't really need it

Anymore.

Sister may I

Take two steps back,

May I run

Back to the start.

Sister,

May I touch you?

May I feel your hand?

Now that you've grown

You're not really there

Anymore.