PHOSPHORIMENTAL

Interrupted life.
Having you, protects me from my own web.
Return to me, as you thaw,
Weathering away to smooth edges.

We are at the center, of this expansive disk,
Glimmering prism,
And the line we follow is just a circle
Contained at some distance from the edge.

Stop, wait for me,
let’s turn and head for the horizon of
Incorporated memories…
That’s what coming home to you is like.

Pale ashes accumulated behind the magnesium smoke,
of discarded memories bending in relinquishment,
Behind the afterglow of the spark,
as it burns down the shaft of time.

Of talus and terminus.
When the last ember sleeps, the stars are free at last
To provide all the light, engulfing the past
That is what coming home to you is like.

Traveling anywhere,
Is just a fancy of the earth below my feet.
Go back and be the mystery you were.
Where your chrome softens into pastel.

I’ve seen the reasons I miss you.
A broken moment collapses into eternity.
The world is peering over my shoulders and it makes me nervous.
As I trace a line along the coast from here to anywhere.

tis nothing if not heard

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I may chase my losses around with a magnifying lens
Trying to figure out what went wrong.
I wonder what went right,
I’m sure it was nothing that I had anything to do with.
I thank god for the tenacity to create
It is not a process, it is the result.
People, get up and face the light
Feel the warmth, let yourself go and bless me, bless us
Who you are is who is truly loved, what is truth?
What is truth?
It is the highlights at the end of the suns ray before it touches the ocean.

I’d rather be lost in your heart then
Discovered in the sureness of wealth.

I need peace.

“You’ll never stop me,” he screamed as he ran into the night,
Faster than the darkness could take.
The silly envelope that cannot close down the acceleration of me toward you
Let me love you to the point of being unreasonable
Do not question.

In a tender yet torrid way
I’ve seen love creep like some shadow
Running from the sun
And overtaking each and every being.
Scanning eyes – moving over the world
They talked and I watched their eyes.
I’m supposed to be with you
As sure as I’m recognized by a stranger
Befriended by an acquaintance
And betrayed by a friend.
Betrothed by a soulmate.

I will be the one – the candle flame,
The world, the cabin walls.
Golden glow, shadowy glower
Scuffling feet over the wooden floor
At some chalet in a wanna be alp.

I’m a ….hm.

tis nothing if not heard

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Discordant leaf chatter
argues over the path,
dispersed by a nettled wind
This is the Fall of my life.
Every breath shivered
and twirled on the air,
Fogging a glass piece
Through which I stare.
At lions at play
in the depths of my soul,
fierce and gentle
On ethereal fields.
Moon rays softened
on the curves of your hair.
now stars on their nightly procession
clatter like ignited leaves
Across my path,
where all will join the Fall.

tis nothing if not heard

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Promise to be safe and ponder with you heart
Breathe deeply and fill your eyes
Be clarity in the sands
Venture with your mind into the white caps.

An old remembrance of a boat,
adorned with palm fronds and dusted with fine white sand
Resting like a native islander,
who froze in mid-sleep while catching his breath

Curls of sun-bleached blue paint barely clings to the hull.
The gunwales pitted by caked sea salt and crumbling barnacles
And in the foreground, the dead keel lying in state
held up by two saw horses,

On top, a bucket of shellac lying on its side,
its contents spilled and dried
with a crusty brush glued to the lip – unable to roll
Nothing moves in the sea breeze,
except a few ribbons of shredded gray canvas
Caught on the ragged edges of sprung planks and tips of rusting nails.

The somnolent moan of the tide harmonizes
with the fine rustling grass skirt of palm in the breeze just over the berm.

The deposited waves rush back to the sea
tumbling shell fragments, sea glass and paint chips –
like tiny maracas.

The thick mingling smells of palm husks, sea grass, and salt
condense in the matted locks of her hair –
which waltzes impersonally with the ripped canvas –
flapping like the torn tips of an unwilling pirates pantaloons.

Even as every wave lifts and hoists a piece of the weathered wood out to sea,
the sand laden, slumbering mass reminds her
of bright white sails catching the wind,
and the glistening blue bow
cutting through the water with a hiss
the lively vessels wake reflecting a burning orange sun
melting on a curved blue horizon
Free to be on its own on the endless ocean –
beginning only on this beach.

Ironically, unable to renew itself,
This sage of a sail boat is a modern statement
to a pair of displaced romantics,
For now, parted by the ocean.
Unable to lose each other along the way,
Their love, is like this boat.

tis nothing if not heard

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