sun rays
are for sliding
up into the rain.
rainy days
are for crying,
letting go of the pain
wanting
knowing
feeling
being;
no time for these,
when all
we are
is doing
the damn thing
do it right
if you do it well:
then do it twice.
will you
come and
breathe,
with me?
eyes
looking
away from all
can only look
within.
turned inward,
they cannot blink.
raw unreflected splendor
blinds the fearful
and faithful alike.
speaks
through
the soft pink lips
of an Angel;
flows
lovingly,
yet unbidden
from the heart
of a rough and
gentle soul.
The sun,
the sky,
a bumblebee’s dance,
all tease ways
to the Truth.
open
submit
breath
&
love.
Truth
will
find
you.
crimson and calico scatterdrop
sky
sings the blues
a deluge
of beauty
slips
away in a gale
and falls gently
to the floor.
windswept, driven
spent,
and pure
spring is
no more.
shambling through
the calming cool,
answers gather in a refuse pool.
and an angel sings,
and falls….
Life Begins.
time
shrinks.
time grows.
old friends
reunite,
and,
part again.
wearing baobab smiles.
but the spark of nostalgia
burns
slightly
brighter.
She came to me last night.
again,
for the first time.
It was a sunny afternoon in California.
Riding the Greyhound down a highway I’ve never travelled before.
She was sunny and beautiful,
funny and strong
&
Australian.
I fell in love before she hopped aboard
(She was hitchhiking)
I clumsily and purposefully flirted in clumsy Kiwi dialect, claiming Aussie heritage;
she was not amused,
but she smiled anyway.
It felt…. real…. so very real…. then I realized….I have been here before,
on this bus,
with this woman,
on this road to nowhere.
It was not deja vu,
I realized
within the dream, that she was a dream.
am I not one too?
I shook myself awake.
two dates in two decades,
and the affair is complete.
dancing
freely
upon the
ankles of soot covered
angels
I breathe,
free,
again.
many will not,
until
cruel
and selfish want
burns bright.
angels are
infinite,
so come dance with me,
wickedly and lovingly.
come fall with me,
into deepest beauty.
over shadows
and
btwn
bristling bustle
he watches-
she watches
your next move.
will you arrive?
or
fall?
or roll over,
afraid?
they both are
rooting for home,
for the home team,
for the return
of you
to
me.
close your eyes child,
and come to me.
this dance
is yet
to commence.
revisiting old
nostalgias
&
terrors,
patterns
fall into place.
falling,
becomes habit
for those who
fear
their wings.
unscorched Phoenix
knows not
the kindling of its birth.
blind, fresh,
naive, and true,
its power found
in the absence.
theDeprevation 