while spilling
soul–
you convey
in such vibrant tones–
wish i lived in the world
you must
know,
feather hands swaying
through dialogue
as if brushing away
all gloom
to freshen the breath
of this sunlight
starved
room.
spiritual evolution
a broken pencil
lead–
the thought left to
ferment,
in rest from
sleep
i feel the
grey
thick in my bones
today.
on day’s front page
i read of
hate
then had a sip
of tea,
so frantically,
i scrubbed both eyes
as ink poured down
my cheeks
forming two black hearts,
inches apart,
i pray you don’t
think me
weak.
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.
i drop my wedding
ring into a
glass
to watch how quick
it sinks,
it’s senseless games
like these that
consume
me
when given time
to think.
bony leaf adorns
lit path,
the monarch
wing..
rests flightless on its
patch of grass,
in the middle of
a childless
park
on another sunday
starved for
song,
it’s rare that moments
this clear come
along.
birch bough
sags
from the weight of a
single drop
dangling swollen
and blue
like a birthday
balloon
purged from
a sky
that has no
room.
in dispassionate
protest,
i chose to hold
silent,
where so many
times
i’d shared my
mind
and retched much
discontent.
Bouquet
you sold me flowers
from the top
shelf
and i could tell you picked
them yourself,
to lend my space
some of your
touch,
let’s vow to do
our best
to keep the
vase water fresh,
to help them
ward off
death.
hands in the garden 
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