craving inner
silence..
but dreams mostly
of violence,
wakes up to own
scratches..
clutching a book
of matches,
yet rises to
face..
the
quietness,
a lioness,
she is.
mindfulness
absence grips
on tightly,
thoughts of your
warmth
remind
me..
how
to feel-
with empty
space
beside
me..
but never
inside.
the waves licked
your toes
like they craved
adventure,
and you sunk
into sand
like ship beached far
from known
land,
and your
sails!
oh those majestic
doves..
waved back at
the sea
as you turned
to me.
untethered the
summers..
laid shaded
in shame,
flattened by rainclouds
we could never
tame,
unshackled the
remnants
of steel round
our ankles–
thankful for a break
in the grey.
what might we
have done,
were we to know
the now?
more dry
sweat
on
furrowed
brow?
where would we
have flown
with wings fully
grown..
and how?
songbird on
the wire
pecks at
sky..
and flies into
a hole-
to bewilderment
of crows
on hydro
pole.
a thinker
on park bench
stares down
at shoes,
wondering if the
view from
above
offers any
clues,
guy passing
by drags
feet..
through a
puddle,
and doesn’t see
thinker–
lost
in his
own bubble.
stippled ceilings-
prickly feelings in
the depths,
quickened
breaths,
headlights gloss
a window
pane-
sweat stains an
unmade
bed.
the loaded
mouth-
a heavy
head
above heart plump
with blind
regret,
the softest
tongue-
a mind
restrained,
heart calmed and
free to beat
again.
she waltzed into
my thoughts..
then took
a bow,
if only i had
the drive
to
dance
that i do
now.
hands in the garden 
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