point not as
i fail,
no such beast treks
these woods
since autumn laid
its smell,
hear not as
i tell
like i’ve never
lived the
tale,
trapper without
map
back to safety net’s
missing mesh,
beast now roams
off grid,
unplug to watch
eyes dim
like stars
through drowsy slits.
the past claws
us back..
and
for what?
to circle each other
in this same
twisted
cage
baring
our weakness-
in fear of the
kindness..
that may end
our pain?
hope turned
away,
and in blinded
eyes
the sunlight
hid,
as if to shun our wants
for warmth,
until the day she’d gaze
our way again
to grant us her wealth
of attention.
lately i sleep with my
ear to the sea
to perceive what’s
below,
do i hear
a faint echo?
like my own softened
voice
bubbling up from
the floor,
your deep water
whispers
leave me dreaming
of more.
the colours of my fantasy
bleed through the movie screens
then run blue and bruised down my cheeks
like the storm that wouldn’t ease
to let me catch my breath
i’m sick from chasing sleep
through maze’s hall of ghosts
i say hello then turn my back
to walls, then i turn back
in time to watch the colours splash
fantasy, relief from what reality says
helps me see something
other than
what
is.
the brush of
clouds
above this
house,
a ring of birds, fresh
from the
south,
an oak that full well
knows its
age
in sun that hides
but never
fades.
i droop from
a branch
while my toes
stretch for
land,
not quite of the
sky or earth
but stranded in
between.
hands in the garden 
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