Gypsy Moon

Before the day breaks
I will remove myself
from the shackles of slumber
walk out into the darkness
to a singular communion

I will breathe in zeroes
exhale in ones

My feet travel by the hundreds
when they are weary and distracting
I turn my gaze to the stars

The moon has returned
from her visit to the dark side

The gypsy sliver fails
to drown out the twinkling lights
surrounding
and I can still imagine
lightness to my form
as my blood absorbs oxygen

I almost float
to the heavens
searching for my own singular place
to shine

As I exhale
feeding the trees
that begin to shade me
from the oncoming promise
day’s fire and heat
my thoughts return
to more earthly treasures

the sounds of baby goats
rustling for ruffage
the rush of water
falling on a shallow pool
the impression a human makes
against the dark and encompassing air
merely by existing
within a set of defined parameters
ready to face once more
the onslaught of another promised day

Sounds of silence

I lie in the quiet
in search of peace.

There is none.

I feel my lost thoughts
take on physical manifestation
like ants
stealing unbidden on my arms.

I pinch them into a silent death
but they return
stealthy
hunting out the sweet meat in my bones
the sustenance to keep them alive
with purpose.

I walk without destination
seeking solace in movement.
I count my steps
feet falling in sequential inevitability. 

Still I am pestered
by concerns that defy articulation.
The prison of my isolation
is a blessing I sometimes wonder at
but still manage to crave
my drug of choice
that saves me the pain of abandonment the catch being
I can never abandon myself
my doubts and prejudices
my predilection for self abasement.

Ah the silence
that is ever full
of internal noise!

That Space Between

king, slaughter a feast for the gods to be cradled against the belly of the mountain with its peaks like a titanium crown stabbing the skies in ragged regal form choose now the form of your birth or sprawling worship to that space between earth and sun as all before you raised from the earth lowered from the heavens in the carcass of a tree silent in its observation of the folly of man that burning lust for immortality do you smell the ash smoldering within your veins?

they call the wind 'friend'

The wind howls

through the empty spaces of my cells,

a calcium seeking chemical composition

hungry for bone. 

It leaves behind a bitter chill,

and I shake and chatter erratically

in a feeble attempt at warmth. 

Weak branches fall from their limbs,

cutting into my arms and feet,

and I close my eyes,

searching for the skills

to construct a haven from this madness,

this method of living. 

Soon I will be lost in the chaotic collapse

unless I create a path of my own making. 

My mind gets lost

in the pondering maze of indecision,

unable to recognize the sound of anything

but the roar of air pressing in,

whirling from every direction.

I shiver,

my gaze westward,

feet in opposing positions.

the inevitability of change

There is snow on the garden. 

Yesterday the leaves were dying

from wintry battle wounds, but

today they are frozen in mid-decay,

playing like a possum at being alive

(or is it dead?) 

There is promise in tomorrow. 

The snow will melt,

hydrating roots, soil,

birthing the green of possibility. 

The snow will freeze,

breaking apart fragile molecular existence

clinging to weak sunlit hope. 

For now, the only truth is this:

the roots could harden,

go dormant,

expecting the worst of all possible outcomes,

or they could open

to the beauty of blooming

under their own burgeoning light. 

The chemical reactions

that initiate such response

have already been initiated. 

Which way will the wind blow?

boundaries

I expect perfection of myself 

but forgive so much of others.  

Some say they feel complete 

when someone else is so impacted by their existence 

that the absence is irrevocable, 

unrecoverable.  

In my isolation and fear 

of old scars being reopened, 

am I ever assigned to failure as a human being?  

Am I too frigid to ever be warmed 

with the lick of flames again?

Where is that thin line

between personal and partnership growth,

alone or side-by-side?

Lost in the struggle, I sleep uneasily,

dreaming of togetherness

without fear of boundaries.

potential energy

My bones are shattered 

with hairline fractures

from the force of your blows. 

You allowed yourself 

to become encapsulated 

in the fear of happiness 

and left both of us broken.  

I wonder sometimes if you miss me.  

If I’m being honest, 

I think I only really miss the idea of you.  

You accepted 

the humanity within me, 

though it didn’t truly blossom until your 

withering.  

I imagine 

a more beautiful manifestation of you 

on occasion, 

when I think of union and warm touch and tingling skin.  

You were a furnace 

that ran out of fuel.  

But I still miss 

the promise of you.  

I imagined you truly saw me 

in your crisp 20/20.  

But I think you really only saw 

a dream of your own conjuring.