I Am Here

And have been.

Though I don’t yet fully see,

Looking through blinds as eyes—

Pieces and impressions—

The trees only stand tall

Not standing as themselves,

The birds fly

Not dancing and singing their own.

As I come in full light

My sunset is slowly coming,

White becoming color, successive

Distinctions that reveal uniqueness,

Similarity and kinship,

Until in darkness we share

The hope of another dawn.

A morning where new eyes see the being

Of all things and feet that lift

A knowing body to walk

In the path of metanoia, deeds done

By relationship to keep all aright,

A life long-lived to find another

And be in the presence of eyes that see all,

A unity of vision that set the universe,

The moving of our small sphere for its sanctity. 

Morning Eyes Cry

The heaviest tears.

I’ll never know what was me

Or what I handed over.

Though I continue to work

My mind is out to sea

With the last of my childhood smiles.

Do I shout or run

Or for forgiveness pray?

Age old promises broken in seconds

Leave the deepest wounds.

Once the purpose is unmade

Is it just a ring?

Having left the high road

Do things become easier?

Am I free? Once you die,

You realize just how easy it is
And how complicated the price can be.

I’m Happy Until I Remember.

The smile leaves my face

From the quiet breakfast table,

Bacon in the light of dawn.

With on my face a soft ray 

I still feel your lips

And phantom limbs,

The weight of a body long overdue.

Though I lost myself

You stick around;

Your breath is at my shoulder,

Body’s smell in my shirt.

After a sleepless night

You are more inescapable.

I raise the knife to cut

One last piece

So myself I may excuse.

I look into the dark

Below the light

Without seeing, knowing what’s there,

It’s moving so fast that

I don’t understand at all.

The life I leave behind

Can not guard my steps ahead.

Fingers on buttons

Turning up the volume

That will never be loud enough

To forget for one moment

The morning that I died.

On the Purple Ridge

Sits sight of eyes

Wondering how long

How much until

The glass in the left hand will turn dry

And the flood in the mind subside.

Feelings colder than the frost

Around the door’s framing,

The view contains all the insight this man can see.

He hopes emptying a bottle
Will get him over that mountain
So the sun has yet to set.

A heart seeking courage just needs

Some fuel to get there,

An award of triumph awaiting

The man who can keep his

Hands straight and his eye on the goal,

Even if through glass.