Sea Of Storms

Last night
I heard your shoes cover
the puddled moon
and watched it drown beneath
your feet.

Drown.  Then smash into
lunar chips
of midnight orange.

Later, icy pockets hunched 
in ripped folds of 
swallowed words lay between us.  Crumpled
by misunderstanding.

Sliced sharp as serrated lips.

Brought to mine to kiss.
To kiss and say
sorry.

Beyond, the moon again.
Its neon shards cracked
together lifts the
silent squares of light
from unlit
windows.

Tranquil, we sleep.
Folded in melts
of silver.

Crescent-lipped and healed.

Turn To The Sun

She picks her way carefully
between the words of your
lives.

Two lives
condensed to a scratch on stone.
The churchyard mud
sticks.

Whistles, shouts, commands
scar through shreds of boys.
"We're going over the top."

You did.


Each bone and breath, gasp and greatness 
remain.
Smothered by blood and mud.
And the savage loss of years.

She wants to lift you up.
See you stretch, smile, shake
off the dust.
Turn your faces to the sun and
race back
to the rest of your lives.

But touches
cold stone.

Yet walks away 
holding warm hands.

Sky of Fortune

Silvered slip 
of foot

the deep mud no obstacle
to the hill of view.

Stolen breath flies
to the empty trees.  And
hangs like white-veined ghosts. 

A space of sky
so wide  
turns before me.


A sky of fortune
basking in winter's end.

Peaches In The Can

Slices of time
stick and slick

places, years, names
split, sear, stitch together

a collage of kissings,
talkings, meetings, huggings

passings by

peaches in the can.