it was backwards
in time
we stripped the clock
down to its
gears–
to tinker with
a heart
too cracked to
beat again.
poetry
we met during a
thunderstorm,
you caught lightning
in your teeth,
my heart rumbled
deep beneath
desires purged
by cloud.
give me a
shot,
you may
be disappointed–
but never underappreciated
for the living
mystery
you are.
tell the sleeping
a dream
that may haunt
me awake–
and keep my wits
alert enough
to catch its
meaning,
these old pictures seem to
leap out of the
screen
to drag
us back into
our most wistful
scenes.
sheltered beneath
fractured
wing
rests
a fragile
quivering thing,
knows not own
strength–
nor that it’s
been seen
by every other
passing
being.
we got to here from
nowhere
and let fears
fall
to see where
they may
land–
our pieces scattered
like windswept
sand.
when my faith isn’t
as strong
as i’ve let
on,
i slither down
ladders
into lakes
of my own making
to bask for longer
than is healthy
for someone craving
something
real.
heartache’s but
a drifter
come to rest atop
the stump,
and
healing is
a warm embrace
born out of
self love.
i fall
into her tune
when i should really
craft my
own
to regale her
deep into the night,
for each
and every time
she’s shared
of hers
to spare me
mine.
hands in the garden 
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