i hold this in my mind.
after so long
i found the string;
the one i pulled
which broke apart
the pattern.
i fumbled for it
for sometime,
sitting amidst a pile
of threads
hoping and praying
i might find the end –
that i might find
the beginning.
now,
i can start to
reconstruct,
to interlace the threads
and weave a new
pattern.
i want to weave you,
your life,
into this.
to entwine us.
how do i ask?
i have tried.
i have.
the fibers of this string
are so worn now.
they are delicate.
i am delicate.
a body hardened
and a mind so sharp,
but my heart,
…my heart.
i have started
the pattern,
i have reached out my hand,
offering you the thread
so we can
weave together.
but i stop,
i have seen this,
i have felt
this.
i withdraw.
i weave through my heart
and mine alone.
i need to knit this
for me,
just for me now.


i want to arrive.
is it again
that i desire
to do so?
or have i
been here the
whole time?
i think i’m
just stubborn,
perhaps.
but who was
i then?
fingertips trace
soft skin
that has aged
so much
over just a few years.
gray hairs and
wrinkles,
eyes that pierce
even my own
being
in a frightening
and beautiful way.
i would be okay
arriving alone.
and i would be okay
returning alone.
fingertips
wouldn’t trace
empty sky
and these beautiful eyes
that pierce would
be just for me.

i wore a jacket
to drink my coffee
on the deck
it was cold but the sun
was beautiful
it was an autumn sun
one that breaks through trees
and highlights
golden leaves
and crimson leaves
i’m not sure
what else i want in life
i’m not sure
what else i need
i have climbed
my mountains
i have seen
what i need to
it all returns
and arrives again
crimson leaves
and golden leaves
will turn to lush green
and return again
to autumn colors
i would be content
to sit here
drink my coffee
and watch
and be

but a day ago / I am not me / a year ago / then a total stranger / to both you and I / it’s so beautiful / wrinkles that were once loved / are simply reflections now / just that / no longer a measurement of time / a measurement of longevity / i never knew desire / a want like this / a wish for self / me now for me / wrinkles measuring a life well lived / a reflection looking back / loving every mark / as simple as that / has filled me with me pleasure

in my mind
there is still warm sun

not from today
or this year
but from years ago
another lifetime

i can still remember
the cool tip of your nose
pressing against my cheek
followed by warm breath
and then a kiss

this is how it happened

illness has left me empty
all this has broken
and scarred
and worn so thin
all that i was

I am now
down to a single thread

but in lunacy
i’ll still hold
this one event

the cool tip of your nose
pressing against my cheek
followed by warm breath
and then a kiss

all of this
will drive me mad

i am ok with this
i have made peace
with losing everything

but not the memory
of warm sun
and a cold nose against
my cheek
not of forgetting warm breath
that spoke a language
without words
and of a kiss
that didn’t leave
with everything else


the butterflies have left
they’ll begin their migration
i suppose this is what
instinct demands of them
they know
it is that simple
during the summer months
they’ll enjoy the bush
in our yard
we planted it for them
they’ll feast on the nectar
they are so busy doing so
i can stand just a few inches away
and they pay me no mind
then one day they’re gone
instinct told them to leave
but intuition doesn’t tell me this
i just wake one day
and notice the leaves are
shifting colors
the butterflies leave well before
but i am too busy
and notice only
when the trees are ablaze
with an intensity that screams
“look at us!”
and i do
i wonder how much
has passed me by
that did not draw my attention
that said “look at us..”
but i only heard the echo
the butterfly bush has passed
the nectar squeezed
they are en route to south america
the trees are
throwing their leaves around
wildly tossing them to the wind
when they are bare
and the butterflies
have finally arrive
maybe then i’ll eventually demand
“look at me!”
and see if you do

i think we’ve
seen this before
haven’t we
looking for shadows
instead of flesh
trying to hear murmurs
rather than words
i have tasted
the salt of skin
and heard the
echo of whispers
but neither
have a pull anymore
though the emptiness
jabs with such
bittersweet needles
my solitude presses slowly
the emptiness of time
to which i have
grown so accustom




a wind moved through me
the season has been changing
i’ve seen it in the sun
and felt it in the air too
i went to look
at the full moon
the other night
they call it a corn moon
it arrives during harvest time
the algonquin tribes
called it that
or so i’m told
that’s when the cool wind stirred
and moved through me
like a breath
a sort of whisper
fleeting
and i said aloud
to no one
i am just endless husk
no harvest hands need come
to take me



i can’t imagine
we’ll ever find our way back again.
alas, such is departing.
one leaves and might as well
bid farewell to all the known. 
two people, maybe lovers,
or friends,
or family,
will alway seek a return. 
one will say, when arriving,
when at the place that they
thought they remembered,
the place they thought
they left,
‘yes, i’m here.’
and the other
will arrive elsewhere, somewhere,
and say,
‘yes, i’m here.’
that is it.
we arrive again to some place,
any place,
real or just a state of being,
and think it is what we left.
some feel the unease right away. 
they are aware that ‘here’ isn’t ‘here’
and discontent and longing sets-in
like a sickness.
others lead entire lives
only to wake one day and come to 
terms with it,
the knowledge that
the here that isn’t here.
i can’t decide which is worse;
the instant awareness 
or the slow creeping realization.