Summer Twilight

Have I ever told you
how much I love
the color of the sky
at Summer twilight?
And how it will
draw me to the edge
of the balcony
to bathe the whole
world and I in fading
orange and violets?
And how, that in
these moments,
just before the day’s
brilliance disappears
into the night,
these thoughts will come
to me of you,
and appear, always,
like dawn on the horizon.

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Route 66

I like to think of my shoulders
as small corners
meant for your hands to turn
and take the wheel.
“Steady now,”
with eyes straight ahead,
the road runs smooth
like newly laid cement and
we’ve got the windows down.
And all my thoughts of you
are like this;
like a road trip across
a thousand different landscapes
while we watch for
prairie dogs and tumble weeds,
and have left behind the cities
in favor of open roads
that are no more than
two lane highways dotted
with endless yellow lines,
with time to take the scenic byways,
as many as we like,
just so we can remember
how free it felt; youth,
and how like a new rain smells,
we never forget.

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Deja Vu

So tell me, what was it? What feeling
in the energy in the room?
Was it the same thing I felt
as I hung onto the kite string
I had tied a key to?
Because I’ve tried, I really have,
like a set of lost keys
I’ve lost the memory to recall
where I left them last.
But to no avail, because I keep
finding the reason I tried
to lose them in the first place,
yet again and again,
they keep coming back,
like that moment one has
deja vu; of somewhere
I need to be; of somewhere I’ve been.

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Who Rushes In

Song of my childhood
in morning sings,
perched on the branch
of a precarious tree,
and thanks the day
with songs to wake
from its slumbering sleep;
the World.

As does the child
who rushes in,
with tiny but thundering
barefoot feet,
and jumps the bed
where her parents sleep,
with the day so full
of wonder, of glee.

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Center

He sits at the center,
of the heart, not deplete,
to fill my head up,
over n’ over with dreams.

And don’t ask me why,
because I can’t explain,
for what the heart wants,
fills up in the brain.

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Juglone

I was sleep walking,
eyes closed, still in dreams,
I am sure of it.
Surrounded by the hills
of my youth and valleys
full of endless fields,
as though they were gold
spun in the sun
and ready for harvest,
that I walked barefoot,
as I always did,
till met you under
the branches of a grove
of walnut trees,
where everything
was barren about them,
and the earth black
as the bottom of my feet,
that you had to ask,
“do they hurt?” That as I
turned the soles upwards,
you did not wait, but took
me and all that I had to offer.

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Fine Etchings

Time wields
an Engravers tool
held steady, constant,
with hands that
will not waver.
Though, for some,
more heavy
than others, who fair
a much lighter touch.
Of these, Time
must favor.

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Nacre

I try to calculate,
that first moment,
that first wave
of thoughts and
when did it
role in; you?
How you came
crashing through,
wave after wave,
till stuck like a
grain of sand
in my brain,
and how now
these thoughts
of you grow
like a constant
irritant in my soul,
embedded,
layer after layer,
and building,
something costly,
something worth
its weight in gold,
something
the whole
world
is searching for,
and how few
have built
the lung capacity
to find it,
to hold their breath
long enough,
to wait, for what only
love can build;
the pearl.
And one day,
yes you,
around my neck
will hang it.

Of this, I have
no doubt,
of this, I am quite sure of it.

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Upon the Rooftop

On days like this
are our thoughts not also
just as weighted?
As the clouds
who have decided
to pick up and carry
an ocean
until it becomes a burden,
and too heavy
is finally dropped,
and one by one
it falls; the surf,
as rain upon the rooftop.

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Wait

Where shall we go and
how shall we find each other?
As the words come
and present themselves, and I,
obliged to write them down
in circles wonder,
how many paths are there?
and which one will lead to you?
As the woods grow thick
and soon will fill with
their own enchantment,
they call to us to choose and
so we must take the one
not yet traveled,
and as I do, I envision you
out there somewhere
in the middle,
on your own path,
which you have chosen,
but have slowed
to a stop now under a
canopy of trees and wait
until my path intercepts you.

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