Tag: poem

the snow is deep

the snow
does not pile up
It was never meant to last
but I lose track of where it
falls across the fields
the ones untouched by wanderers
unmarked except for
a tree that breaks up the
rolling surface
there, the snow is deep
It was meant to be there

empty air

How does my breath
get taken by yours?
When I speak,
you seem to draw out the marrow
from my words.
If my words come from fear,
you take in the shadows.
If they come from longing,
then I am left holding only
the remains of desire.
Is this
how we share?
Breath at the core,
yet I am
grasping at empty air.

tea

a gray morning
a cup of hot tea
I set my thoughts aside
and watch for sunlight
I taste the sweet tea
lingering on my lips
I wish I could hold time
just slow it down enough
so daylight moves slowly
never quite arriving
and my tea
never gets cold

a tree

When I am in the woods, I stay quiet

I want to be like a tree

A tree only moves when something moves it

It does not try to imitate anything else

It is always true to itself