Sojourner

In all our human experience
We can only speak and hope to hear.
The most precious, serenely lasting
Cannot begin to be shared.

When I was a sojourner of the end of the world,
Where sparse, pink bushes in their stationary beauty
Blur on the horizon in brushstrokes of the last, lonely painter;
There, a dying tree muttered something -
That by this point, everyone's happiness had come.

A flower waits on my desk
To remind me why I'm here
Still clinging to that awakening scent
As if adorning my life instead of my skin.

And in the rain, on the secret hill
They taught me how to live alone;
And in the dark, they taught me to slow down,
They taught me how to live.

All Night

Stand still, decide where your eyes will stray
Do something with that strand of hair.
Speak slowly, in words like brushstrokes
Bright with the colours on your tongue.

Trace the rhythm of this next breath
A momentary wave on the smooth sands
Running along next to your heart.

The skin on the palms of your hands
Has grown old. Smile
And hope someone will memorize the lines.

Stand still, until I see the twinkle in your eye.

The familiar wood of the floor shines
And a photograph pinned to the fridge
Reminds you who you are.
See behind you; flour, sugar, spice
The warm lights that gently stroke your arm
And mingle in your hair.

Stand still, until, in your eye
That twinkle swells
With reminiscences and pain.

Hanging Gardens In Autumn

Flowers that hang from walls
So beautiful and so cruel.
Their soft petals, pink and white,
Are awakened by the breeze
And remember the sweet touch of earth.

Leaves, still so new; but
They have become cold and waxen
In the face of unrelenting heat.
Now free, if only to grow old,
Fall, and feel the warm embrace of earth.

Raindrops that nestle themselves in my hair
That clean the air, remind me of the joy of breathing.
That run down my cheeks and mingle with my tears
For the boy that hangs from a tree
So beautiful and so cruel.