near as the harsh gust
piercing my
lobes,
sharp as dusk’s bite
on the ridge of
my nose,
red not from
the candy,
cold not
of your stare,
autumn’s come
calling-
its breath in
our hair.
mindfulness
descending, head
spinning,
cave floor’s always
dropping,
in pure
dark..
soul’s resisting its call
to glance
up.
not a jumper
but i like
to fly,
no real reason to
return to
ground–
i glance around
to find
us
floating eye
to eye.
one pure thought
away from
gold..
so i’ve been
taught
to know what’s
real from
not
the kind of
livin’
that’ll keep me from
growing old.
silence surround
us
and please kill
the lights,
wish to drift into
backdrop
so bright it
blinds-
so warm it
glows
into a dreamscape
so formless
it flows.
heat lines on
the ocean
blur our trip to
the other
side,
while vessel melts
beneath our
thighs.
come in crashing,
i’ll catch you
gladly
and steady us
both,
but won’t hold
the full
load–
’cause i’m too
shaky..
and this i
know.
i drown my hands in
childhood streams-
to feel water cleanse
the guilt and
regret,
then splash it on
my face,
to remind me
i’m not
dead.
we used to sing
like no one
heard
us,
but heart song
still chimes
in ears
of
those seeking space
in which to rest
their spears
and truly
listen.
this isn’t down
or up..
but some other
direction
i’ve never been pulled
towards before,
no longer hanging loose
or stuck to any
ceiling-
losing hold
on familiar feelings.
hands in the garden 
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