Mine
I find myself wandering, these days —
Wandering — here — here where it’s
Wet and strange — here —
Where space feels like smallness,
Cavernous as a Maybe
And dark as a dream —
Still as a scream — Here, here
Where I am — following Traces of Gold
In the Cracks in the Walls,
Skipping stones on the puddles,
The ciphers, the Ribbons of quartz —
Here where it feels like a Flickering out
Of Time —
And Yes —
And No —
Here, slipping, sliding away —
Those eyes — slipping — away —
Buried here, somewhere here —
Making space feel like smallness,
Cavernous as a Maybe
Lullaby
One can only hope,
Breathe in the day —
Spider up dexterously into
The gossamer star-nets,
Dark blue, gauzy, and damp
As cottonball tears —
One can only sink down
On the uncut grass, the green,
This — Life — grab the blades
In fists — and hold on, hold on
For dear life, oh dear life —
Oh my Dear —
One can only
Lie in bed,
Blink, blink, blink until the
Blinking feels like sleep,
And breathing steadies itself into
The holiest of
Silent, fearful prayers.
One can only hope,
And that’s — Enough.
Soft Spot
All it takes
Is a Look
From those Eyes —
Rosy, wide, afraid —
And the Spot
Swells into
Color and Roses
And Light.