time

time
things are unfolding

flower buds appear
then petals open

time keeps unfolding

now
everything moves toward dust

time seems to unfold backward

am I becoming the dust
just a petal

time

tell me things

in

in dreams, my body
tells me things

i study you
my
my body feels so inadequate

so very
loved, yet
still so inadequate for this

in dreams
my body tells me things

my body tells
me in dreams
of things

my body is always primal

body


to hide pain or joy
or even joyful pain
or pleasure

body
tell me things
things

told to me
by my body

only a lilac tree

buds curl inward;

last year’s blossoms

fold in on themselves,

becoming memories.

only a

lilac tree could hold these lessons

with

such bold defiance.

blossoms

so close to blooming,

and last

year’s buds are only memories now

a child. the rain.

i pressed a leaf

between the pages of a book

in a chapter i

haven’t read yet.

it was a dark purple leaf

with crimson veins

from a season that has already passed

from a season i wanted to keep

saved in a timeless moment,

like a child laughing at

the rain.

a child who hasn’t grown jaded yet,

always curious,

and free,

always feeling safe

even in the unknown,

at home with questions,

questions wrapped up in life,

and life itself held as a question.

the plum

i have misunderstood

the plum

something so simple

something often overlooked

we feed each other slices

of sweet

ripe fruit

collecting the juice

with our tongues

and sucking out the flavor

from our lips

we taste both the fruit

and each other’s skin

this is our language

words don’t work for us

it feels primal

it feels perfect

this is all we want

sticky fingers and lips

and the pit we leave behind

silhouettes

the sky glows pink

a thin line of color appears on the horizon

it looks pale and soft

the trees stand as dark silhouettes

the humid air lingers around me

the heaviness is broken

a gentle breeze brushes past

it touches my skin softly

it is just a soft touch

hold on a moment

stay here through the night

stay

silhouettes begin to move

they move with grace

a thin strip of light appears

now, it is early dawn

stay here through the night

stay

one thin wisp of cloud

it’s midday.

i empty the used coffee grounds

from the press.

it’s too late now for

another cup.

i carry the

grinds to the compost;

walking barefoot through the grass

the air is thick with humidity

the lawn

feels damp underfoot.

i pause, gaze upward,

shielding my eyes

from the sun.

above me,

one thin wisp

of cloud.

it seems adrift, out of place.

can you see this?

wherever you are,

can you see this?

the shape of the cloud

is so feminine

in shape;

voluptuous, round,

gesturing in a way that is both crude

and shy way.

can you see this?

i feel out of place.

here in the yard,

on the grass soaked with humidity.

can you see me?

wherever you are,

can you see me?

i stand there until

the cloud

melts away into blue,

a rich blue,

a humid blue.

wherever you are,

can you see me?

​

somehow

These are fragments of life;
I’m not sure any of this makes sense;
Still, these pieces seem to fit together somehow.

Somehow.

And what of it?

How do we connect the dots?
All of this,
every bit of it!

We might call it life,
But how do we come to accept these pieces
And make them whole?

So what does it all mean?
What are we supposed to make of it?

Have you seen
My thinning hair?

I have too.
I know you’ve noticed.
And,
My wrinkles or my tired eyes?

“Ok, yes,
these are pieces.
I understand.”

Somehow,
We’ll keep insisting,
that somehow,

they all fit together.