You

We know a place
Tucked in foothills,
A place that is beautiful
And wretched

One that is sick
And starving
And cold

One painted in boxcar songs,
Taped together with blood feuds
And weird-shaped bones

A postcard that pines to leave itself,
To strip the lumber from the mountain
And build something better,
Something less fractured

We know an open window
Where you can toss your crumbs,
Where you can leave your flowers,
Your pennies and your dimes

We know an open window,
One that’s too high to reach
And too small
To climb through

She could stir herself,
spoon the soup babbling its own language
to the beans, awash in their own
thoughts while the crusted sun
of risen bread awaits a silver blade 
in this house of thick clay bowls, nested
pots and pans, all those edges
cupping bounty 

or

she could lay down
the woven towel, its faded
stripes crumpling like cloud-shadows
on the distant hills, follow corridors
of passing geese, their words
falling like pebbles
to be gathered, hoarded against
the barren months. They are
watching, waiting for
what could be …. 

Green canopy hides dark sky,
leaves campers unaware approaching storm

Soggy leaves underfoot hide brown toads
birdsong, so much unseen, wet woods

Deer visits each campsite, begs for food,
poses, portraits posted on-line

Like the caramel coated liquid that

clings to the ice of

the-slow-to-burn-whiskey

warming my insides

the memory of you meets reality and

intoxicates me with ideas

of what it would be like to be

drunk on love

aged to perfection.

A wise man’s drink- this love-

not young and innocent,

but bold, educated, matured-

by the heat of waiting –

fermenting,

becoming.

Something more than one man’s dream-

or a drink at the bar.

A creation of time, youth meets age, meets evolution, meets passion, meets flavor, meets process compounded with the perfect timing- unexpected, yet prepared.

Something worthy of the cost

to place you on my shelf to taste again and again, in celebration of life-

in celebration of love.

I was told by a friend that I overthink things,
That is absurd,
Well, maybe “absurd” isn’t the right word,
It was an unfair assessment of my thought processes,
Or at least an inaccurate one,
Actually, it was both.

Anyway, this friend–not a close friend,
But more than just an acquaintance,
Maybe a colleague,
Or maybe not, since we are in different lines of work,
But definitely not a close friend,
Since he didn’t even invite me to his wedding,
Maybe because I used to date his bride,
But that was a long time ago,
And they weren’t really dates, per se,
We had lunch together and one time went to a movie,
But that was actually in a group,
So I wouldn’t really call that a date.
Funny, she made the same observation about overthinking.

So, where was I?

Faux stones traced in clay;
gray putty masks modern walls.
Truth won’t move houses.

The sun finally retreats

And that’s my cue to take you to bed

Bundled in your comfiest clothes

A blanket swaddling you loosely

The white noise a gentle hum

Drowning out the ruckus outside

You sip on your bottle of warmed milk

You’re rocked gently until your eyes close

And your breathing slows

I marvel at the vast plains of your cheeks

The soft brown hair that grows in patches

Your tiny toes peek up at me

Attached to feet which grow stronger everyday

As your walking becomes running becomes leaping becoming skating becoming galloping

Your little body still fits curved around my own

As if it still desires to be one with its first home

Our heartbeats echoing in response to one another

We will always be two puzzle pieces

That will forever fit perfectly together

No matter how much time and life

Warps us both

No place on this planet or beyond

Can you go where my love will not find you

Will not envelop you in its warm embrace

And rock your weary soul to sleep

Once this life fitfully claims me

Atropos finally cutting my string

When I’ve seen my final sun dance and duck

Behind the backlit horizon

I’ll still marvel down at you

And all you’ve become

Burning alive
From the inside out.
There’s an anger inside
Demanding to be let out.

I run inside to a secret place,
Lock the door
And let my emotions fill the space.

I cannot breathe,
And I cannot see.
All I know is that I struggle to be me.

Therapy,
Yoga,
Doing the works,
But nothing helps me truly escape this anger that feels like a curse.