Gap Year

Make the most of it they say,
As if that’s not
What we’re already trying to do
Though definitions vary between late
Evenings and impending sunrise,
Watch night sky glisten with match
Sticks striking skin, a glimmer of pointillism
Find our way home by connecting the dots
Taking time holding onto consequence of being
Together under assumption that if these eyes
Never close dawn can never come
But it does and how sweetly significant it is
That the day can end in reverie against such
Sullen cries of waning innocence

Pulled awake with thick honey beams
Shrugged off residual suppositions
Lingering still a soft pot of moral support ready
To mitigate existential insecurity waits eagerly
In the kitchen or outside painted as neoteric
Portraits of wash-town forests
Take a break decide course of action
Stretch and listen leaves whisper hymnals
For the day’s intent, sing along
A chorus of vibrant arrangement

To run or wander is always
The question the Great Mother Moon asks,
To rest or mend is what’s requested when
Our eyes open, revealing again an opportunity
To repeat or start anew

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Only As Much

An accumulation of truth hell
Bent on seeing end result, a tree fell
Silent somewhere, maybe north
Where I first learned to fish or to
The east seen signaled as
Embers of a family
Photo being burned beneath cedar blossoms
And cut-off jeans, processed to paper printed
A love note in legal text, an obligation
To let you down, do it now
To save a scene,

What do I have to know
An insistent intervention
An addiction to a drug that runs
Through my veins, I am half my mother
Half my father, half ex-husband
Half failed marriage half-proof alcohol,
One-hundred percent a portrait of love’s incompetence

What do I need to know

Sundry summer day, bees kissing
Blackberry florets, sitting expected but
Unaware on picnic table watching
Jack russell bathe in black dirt-Friday
Contemplating coming sunset,
Walked out tapped flannel crossed
Shoulder, handed document
Recited rehearsed structure,
Coming out in murmur spilling
Over labor and birthdays
Anniversaries and being buried without
The matriarch holding your heart
In requited ardor, a rush
Of words thin as blood weakened
Pulling distance from existence,
Signed your stone separated and alone,
I’ll lay next to you

An Epilogue of You and I

Settling for
Sand falling in precipital pattern,
A cloud cupped in your hands
Formed an hourglass spoke nothing of
Coincidence rather, we watched
Intently the flipped motion picture
Of a mountain evanesce into transparent mist

Potentially blunt ignorance
Or just enjoying a sentient moment
Of naivety, loosely strung
Cotton clothing embraced the moisture
As gift from Lake Michigan,
Shaving warmth from skin
To accept this weight felt closer in sharing
something other than a kiss,
It seemed limitless
The possibility of being able
To walk anywhere

Barren feet beget tandem path
Turned twisted pulling memories from momentum
And the smallest actions go unnoticed
Distance in inconspicuous space
Hinting at inevitable outcome,

Breathing-a mercurial montage
Fizzling forth collective images
Immortalized in wet cement
Chalk drawings of cigarettes
Lighting up caves of empty
Fields between hair and glistening cheekbones,

And the last grain of sand stumbles
Triumphantly to earth
And we felt such relief

A Collective Obligation

Carbon caked to barren
Feet walking on ash then
Dirt ran to water wash
The mess away, right
With grace, if anything at all

Fire forlorn fighting aphotic
Precedence set aside sticks
To burn set aside each other
As well birch bark wrap old
Wounds in words carved from
Apologies and cambium, if
Anything at
All a semblance of sentiment perhaps
It’ll be found
Clinging to wayward horizon

To Lean

Walking sticks carved by hand
Grown thoughtfully once
In a place abundant with life
And a well documented history of surviving,
Cut respectfully give to take- a piece of me
Left behind to seed and sprout
Syncopating ancestor and beating heart,

Wander unnoticed leave but still be remembered,
Little bit older
It’s a little harder to run

Dried for year or two tucked
Next to sage nest flowering alabaster,
Plucked when cracked
Worked with bramble talons scratched
Then scored give to take hands textured
Wrought field rock, leaves whittle flesh to form
Passion is pain is forgiveness is amelioration is repetition
Is hung to cure for a few days-finished
Well, at some point separation becomes inconceivable
Willow bough adds a year through law of conservation
And I’m twenty-one
But my knees are a broken foundation of sawdust

Expedition Lost

What
Was or is
Then

Sometimes I feel
Walking down Broadway or
Delta or whatever street is snow-painted that
I am walking toward the great
Glacial chimney amongst those great
Cedar trees, burdened graciously
With short-torch and wanderlust,
Shane following nearby doubting my
Judgement, cursing the love-touch of wind,
Flurries falling fastidiously and this
Feels real, for the first time-
Inherently magnificent, entirely
Unsure if I am here or actually
There or somewhere between,

The difference means very little