blue flames in
frames,
swollen eye
paint,
wincing through
steel rains,
watching birds
grow faint.
spiritual evolution
i aim a cracked
camera
at streets that won’t
stop moving,
on a day that crawls
down my neck
like a parade
of city
pests,
i aim my cracked
camera
in the hopes that
no one sees
my vain attempt with
shy contempt
to frame this washed
out scene.
rain is freezing upon my
brain thawing
and now feelings are
seeping
from the pits of
my eyes,
with a freshness
so freeing.
no questioning where
lost time
went,
each step marked in
liquid cement,
a breath like ash
upon life’s
page,
the voice that can’t
conceal its
age.
can’t get over
things..
that never happened,
and can’t climb
over forms
that just
exist
anywhere the sun
won’t kiss.
a teardrop into
puddles,
a breeze become
slow breath,
the sigh into one’s
heavy hands
a whisper shy
of death.
atop a carved up
table on the
balcony
leans my lone
potted
plant
and i watch memories
weave between
its leaves
as though they
were live,
as we’re frozen
in time.
fate came
clawing
yet he evaded
its grasp
with a faith more moving than
the words chosen to
describe it,
while beneath skies that rolled
like jewel lined
meadows
he glanced up to find
remnants of
you
in that
never-ending blue.
he rinsed both
hands in the
sink,
watching the soil spiral down
a drain, corroded
and clogged
he
scrubbed,
marveled that his
nails came
so clean
after living neck
deep.
and inspired were
dream clouds
as we stood
beneath
them
in a pose that had us
believe we could
reach them.
hands in the garden 
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