Morning Star

Morning star,
In the smooth violets
The smooth indigoes
Of the crying sky.

Hush now, tears of joy;
I scarcely imagined
That it could happen again.

Now bright yellows, oranges
A vivacious red
In the midst of all this beauty,
Morning star quietly disappears.

Now the memory
Of morning star
Is all that remains.
My rest has been swept away.

"Hush your tears, dear boy;
You really imagined
That I was gone?

"Now, your life has been swept away,
But evening star, unchanging
Will always return;
Is always longing to return."

Friday

This station where I'm
Waiting for the train
Is free of clutter.
Wide-eyed, lovely,
Lonely people
On benches, watch the sunset
And feel space all around.

Like that new song,
The smooth cadences
Which free and tame.
Alive, with not a thought
Of sleeping
At the end of the day,
When all is cleared aside.

You dry the tears from my eyes,
And still my breathing
In the gentle flesh of your shoulder.
Joie de vivre encore une fois,
And quiet, solemn discourse in the rain.

The Art Of Freedom

The word 'never'
Is unforgiving
So is that corner of my mind.

The word 'psychiatry'
Is unnerving
So you hold my hand.

And the art of freedom
You teach me
In your hushed tones
And the art of love
And cinnamon
And now 'never' being alone.

That corner of my mind
Calm, sleepy
Will acquiesce a while.