one more place ~


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beyond the dusk
where dying sleeps –
and promise lives unspoken
love remains
though silent now its verse
cold upon the lips of faith
wrapped in weary hands
chiseled to the stone
wherein we pray
for one more place
another time to grieve
the passing of a moment
into grace

. . .


before he was gone ~


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he spoke about leaving
before he was gone –
of vast empty spaces
he’d wandered alone

she spoke of another
a lifetime away –
of the universe turning
to find them some day

he spoke of intention
haiku and what ifs –
of the ways they had traveled
searching for this

a moment uncharted
by stars on the night –
where she wrote out the heavens
with tender delight

as tears fell –
the first of many she knew
though still they would love –
sworn only to truth

he spoke about leaving
before he was gone –
of a time she would linger
in his memories of home

. . .

shadows of a dream ~


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in my dreams

for this I waited —
never frightened by your touch
a lifetime spent returning home —
has taken
way too much

– loving you for reasons
you may never
the universe of you and I —
a love without demand

beyond the twilight —
shadows gather from the past
— moments never left behind
tho never meant to last

a jealous moon
once listened in
on stories left unspoken
no room for talk of what might be —
or promises unbroken

for this I waited —
for ten thousand more
I would –
what light was
never meant for light —
is seldom understood…

whatever is
will always be —
and nonetheless for time between
what evermore
was left that day —
in shadows
of a dream

. . .

hung over ~


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I am the color
of rain
when the rainbow declares –
a bright stripe
of red
to the blue

I am a chorus
of blue jays
brushed into flight –
when life
gives us all
we aspired

I am the taste
of October –
sun on your lips
a place to pull over
when miles
are worn down

I am morning
hung over
the cool breath
of night –
when pulled by the moon
into verse

. . .

oak ~


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plant me
in the warmest spot
where sunlight spills to earth
face me north
and spread my branches
sing that I might
the ancient rites of wind
that I might feel
the whispers
sweet glad tidings
of the night

snare me
with your ribbons
your cares of yesterday
keep me
as the place you come
to pray
in silence
let me witness
the musings of your soul –
dress me up
with stories
never told

share me
with rememberings
of once a noontide kiss
a late night tear
when no one knew
to listen
a moonlight dance
of sweet embrace
welcoming your sighs
as branches bent
to shield you
from the echoes
of goodbye

. . .

it won’t matter ~


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will come a time
when it won’t matter
what I wrote –
given place
with another

my name
a distant musing
words where there
are none
what solace found
beyond the reach of soul

it won’t matter
how I loved
or how deeply I endeared
the colors
of each season
the taste of cappucine

it won’t matter
where I found you –
or where we were
when first
we knew

it won’t matter
that my laughter
carried more
than all my tears

that my song
has found its rhythm
in the rain

. . .

the fierce embrace of living ~


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were not for love
what purpose this –
for days
beyond the knowing
of graces heaven gathers
in our name

what mortal death
the slightest power
to steal
what none can steal
that even silent lips

tis not for us
to understand
the fierce embrace
of living
the gentle tug
of evermore –
a hand that fits
the same

. . .

returned somehow ~


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I was at last
an eager breath –
the scent of snow on dust
a place of nearly nothing
how I felt
when you were gone
going –
which and still
I wonder now
but I’ve returned
in learning
none are gone away –
the journey
blooms with seeds
from yesterday

. . .

Regardless the journey, we are never lost to love nor us to it.  Where we are, it is……..  We carry love; it carries us.  Home is a place to which we are always going….a familiar we’ve never forgotten.

beyond the reach of always ~


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the reach of always
where questions
often hide
tis there you love –
as wings above
the tide

how many
are the lives between
the first
the last and then –
a place
we’ve yet to understand
awaits our time

I wonder
when the moon is filled
do you linger with
its rise
across the page
of ages past –
to sit atop
the sky

. . .