Dreams or Plans

I dreamed of you.
Gently in the morning,
Drawing lines in the dust with your heel,
A breeze of light to sweep the shadows from their sleep.
Summer rising softly all around.
Gathering my courage, looking to the east,
I offer "go camping with me..."

You shrug, and smile, and say
"she has it all planned..." and then I see
Gear in perfect order, lined up in the yard.
Everything on display,
Even the apples wait in perfect rows.
Provisions for a king.


I hear a quiet voice inside my heart
Pleading..."You could do the same"
Whispering... "You can offer more." But
I smile silently
And turn to go...
Shouldering my simple pack,
Dust on the cuffs of my jeans. 

homesick

Cold concrete cages me, keeps me far away
This frigid, unfeeling
Void beneath the floor
Tells me I am alone.
I am not.
The spaces you fill, the places you fit
Hold their shape for you…
Empty for a time, yet warm, remembering

The moon, drawn to where she lies by stars
Drives me deeper…
Instinctively…
Merging, converging
Craving contact,
Weightless immersion
If only with the air you breathe
Or skin cells sloughed in sleep

In absence, I am alien, unsettled…
Homesick, hungry
Missing limb or organ…
As if my treasure were misplaced.
Minutes crawling, creeping
I should be sleeping…
Darkness haunts the heavens and my heart
Waiting for light to return

Just One...

Rattled and restless, ravaged by wind and history.
Rain soaked, weary, remembering…
A bitter, biting chill. Begging…
Please, never again.

Full moon casts a shadow, afraid to celebrate the light…
Callused, cauterized, colorless.
Shades of gray…
Silent

Cowered in darkness. Buried deep, retreating. Bleeding…
Below, beneath…
Beyond

And yet – Believe…
just one…
one…
In thought, in word, in breath
one heart, one knight, one light
one moment, one chance, one night
one look
just one…

The Eyes

A sliver of moon in a winter sky scantily clothed by clouds of lace,
Venus brightly present… cast her spell?
Brick, iron benches, a fountain found.
A chill, a breath,

silent for a moment.
A voice…
The eyes.
Hours pass unnoticed, while time is still…
as if we have nothing but,
and yet have everything.

It's In the Wind...

my heart is missing... I woke again, startled by something unseen, in the early, eerie hours before this dawn. It was gone then too, this restless organ of life and love. I searched for it, and found it at my window, pressed against the cold hard glass, straining to see that which it is certain exists somewhere. I knew then that I would lose it soon, lose my grip, lose the battle... it had ventured too far down this path of its own illusions and my mind no longer held the reins. In the chill of those silent, small moments in the middle of the night I was able to draw it back to me, lured by a nest of blankets and painted dreams, of fairytales and hope... and return to a shaky sleep. My body trembling at the knowing, the realization that something has shifted. Afraid to close my eyes, sensing that by daybreak it would be gone, sheer exhaustion pulled me under.

As the sky began to lighten to a steely shade of blue, I knew... before my eyes could see, my mind understood. I pulled a wrap around my shoulders and padded softly towards the window. I could feel the wind through the walls, could hear it in the trees and at my door. As I stood behind the glass, hardly protected from the icy fingers of the gale outside I caught a glimpse... as tears flowed I watched it go, this broken heart of mine, wandering with its tattered dreams towards some unseen, distant place.

Even with this space growing between my heart and I, I can see its scars, healed over by the hands of time, patience and acceptance. I can see the empty spaces where pieces have been given away, and know that there is no regret for doing so. It is those spaces which give that blessed, beating muscle its capacity for love... the more it has given away through time, the more depth it has found in this life. The freshest scar is not yet healed, the space which held a precious piece left in a land far from here, left there for safe keeping, for rest and to remain untouched. Left by a knight of high order, of dreams and fantasies himself. Left at the edge of trees in a snowscape, silent and serene...

Beside this space there is another, one whose corresponding shard has been freely given, and remains in the hands of that same knight. Perhaps it is this piece that my determined heart seeks to follow, to find the one who holds it, to know if he exists...

There is no sorrow in those spaces, in the memory of love honestly given. The sadness comes from the shadows which surround it. The place where the Other should stand remains empty. It is that which my heart left in search of this night, it is that which it risks everything to find, following some strange and unrelenting force. Following a beckoning that I have not heard, yet it insists has been given. A beacon of light I cannot see, yet it looks towards faithfully. I remain here,steadfast within the blustery banter of wind and building, standing at the window, straining to see through the storm to catch just one ray of the light that is leading my heart away from me.

unloved

Jaded… turned to stone… like Vonnegut’s “Ice-Nine”, each contact seeds a transformation, hard and cold, from the inside out. Once broken china, repaired so often it’s now more glue than anything, and rendered less beautiful, less useful. Beyond recycling, even the green-washers dispose. Hearts uninhabitable… like Mercury or Mars… where once were dreams of Venus, visions of Eden. Erratic fluctuations of hot and cold, of wanting and rejection, erotic, exotic and then benign. Shifts so sudden the earth shakes, tremors felt, ice melts just to freeze again in another soul, spreading like cancer… Frost-glazed, unseeing eyes, unaware. Shape-shifting statues, game pieces, suffering random acts of reality… unavoidable, unprovoked. Sleep laden sidewalks, shrouded by the morning word. Unnoticed. Unwelcomed. Unloved.

Cold Gray Day

Concrete mountains rise above me, as I roam the city in search of something left behind, a magic moment of surrender, a realization of connection or impermanence, something I can’t quite put my finger on. Pushed to the gutter, and black with the footprint of this age, the remains of the storm lay forgotten, fading, dying, at the edges of commotion. For a moment, life had paused, breathing in the stillness gifted by this blanket of white. The rigid gray of the once busy streets softened slightly by its grace, hushed for a moment while the city stood silent. Then, shaken, as if waking disillusioned from a dream, and late for something important, life rushed ahead, defiling this clean sheet of fluffy newness with its excrement, its grime… pushing it back, revealing the cold, hard surface below, in a hurry to move beyond such inconvenient beauty, and back to routine.

For a moment, there was wonder… a sanctity of presence was felt. Life was honored simply for being, and the business of business took a back seat. So brief, this childlike amusement, how soon we forget to stand in awe, and begin the struggle to return to the struggle...

The air is moist with a foggy mist, hanging heavy over this world of concrete and steel, dampening streets and spirits alike. People wander, disconnected, unenthused, empty… avoiding contact, averting eyes. How quickly the joy of existence is forgotten. A broken man, gray like the sky and bent with age stands cursing those who pass, his eyes meet mine and I find emptiness there as well… sad… lost… He raises a finger to the world and protests his pain with hollow profanity. A fleeting thought of joining him in his salute crosses my mind, bringing with it the hint of a smile... perhaps in recognition of another firey but lonely soul, perhaps for the simple pleasure of giving the bird to the world, to stand beside another and proclaim “enough!”… “fuck you!”…

All around me is a hardness… sharp edges, cold surfaces, cement and steel… it seems exaggerated now that the snow has gone. Giant fortresses of brick and mortar, impenetrable by human warmth, capable of both protecting and isolating, equally adept at welcoming and locking out anyone who comes in contact. As I stand at the foot of one gray giant, I see myself. How is it that I remain outside, separate still? What level of warmth will it take to pass through these walls? They seem to be insurmountable obstacles, this building and my world, yet I know too well that both can be broken. How does one soften and yet retain the strength to stand this tall?

I shudder at the thought of facing one more night, this night of all nights, within my cell. New Year’s Eve, the world has begun celebrating already. I feel only solitude… separate and apart. Too many broken promises to believe that tomorrow is anything more than just another cold, gray day. Yet there are voices in the darkness, fireworks outside my window. How hard could it be to let them in? Maybe tomorrow I will open the door.