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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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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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,
layer after layer,
and building,
something costly,
something worth
its weight in gold,
the whole
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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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.

Continue reading

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Love of My Heart

I wish I could remember,
but for the sound of letters,
of vowels, I could not
decipher the language,
you spoke your heart to me in,
though, how instantly
I recognized the meaning
of your words drawn from
the well of your ancestry,
and how it was the sound
of bumblebees – I Ioved.

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This Color Blue

I’d by lying
if I said
I wasn’t worried
about them
the color
of the sky.

So nowadays,
like today,
for instance,
I try not to take
this color blue
for granted
like I always have.

I hate to think it,
but it might not
always be like
this; this color
blue, this vivid.

Not when
such mad men
exist and want
to color our
world different.
Or should I say,
discolor it.

And so,
I hope and pray
this Easter Day,
that everything stays
as it was

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Where Time is Silenced

But I fear there won’t be time for that
grandest thought I think
every time you cross my path
and how unfortunately seldom,
but does my heart not leap?
as my eyes do trail after you,
wishing that it were, if only,
time could stand still, if
but for a moment, not looking
forward, not looking back,
but simply in the here and now,
to be with you where time is silenced.

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Burial at Sea

What weak remembrance,
through fitful sleep,
of rapid, swiftly moving
plunged head deep
into undercurrents
of the psyche,
who, without regret,
drowns the conscious nightly
in this burial at sea,
to lift the unconscious
(mind and soul),
to travel into dreams,
as though a train passing
loved but blurring landscapes.

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