Waking

In a universe where nothing is lost or gained,

Where joy and pain are relative

And exist because of one another,

Where all things end with nothing quite yet different,

I must find myself on one side of a line.

This line, so beautiful, so bleak

That separates freedom from abandonment

Is made of simple strings

And the idle dreams of people before.

I digress.

Some days the ground seems flat,

And what we see is the limit of existence.

The feeling of freedom

Drifts peacefully in the air.

My voice reads a closing chapter,

Though we are clearly less than halfway.

What makes that close go on and on

Is the knowledge that, for all the distance run

All things end with nothing quite the same.

Dreams

I dreamt of a life
That went around in circles.
Each day the same, serene,
With the architect of these days
Imprinted on my mind and on my skin.

Now we drink cups of tea,
While the same songs play
In the corner of a different kitchen.
But we are back to where we were,
And nothing you can say to make it change.

My water is bitter,
With saltwater on my cheeks.
We used to cry as we sat
Halfway up the stairs.

That, my friend, was a dream ago.
Now it seems I dream of a life
And in that life I walk around in circles.

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.

Fading

The reflection fades
In the bright glass before me.
I remember a time
When you could see nothing at all
Through its lonely shield.

Now streetlights, leaves
The wall, not so high now
Raindrops and the cars beneath them.
Shadows play across my face
Shrink from the image outside.

A cup of coffee, behind me,
Offers no love, or help for pain
As I stay alive

Man Looking For Jazz

There's a man looking for jazz
But I've lost my way
I miss your smile
Waiting for me in the past

Migraine, tired head
Just rice to eat
Stay plain to avoid an upset.
No coffee, no music,
Hibernating for the summer.

Now the man picks up
His bright red saxophone
Taps a rhythm with his foot,
And feels the sweet tones once more.

All I do is sleep to numb the pain.

And now I wake
To find a world forgetting
And daring me to give in.

With only, I think,
Your sweet hair
And tender limbs for help
Waiting for me in the past
Wonderful, then
That this is more than enough.